


The Magus

by Kaelas, yamikuronue



Series: Tales of Aldis [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Carver Hawke Being an Asshole, Cute, Drama & Romance, Ethical Harem, F/F, F/M, Feels, Feels Cannon, Fuck Carver, Harems, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Multi, Not That Kind Of Family Though, Polyamory, Slavery, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-22 08:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 159,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12477848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaelas/pseuds/Kaelas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamikuronue/pseuds/yamikuronue
Summary: When her home was taken from her, burned down by the demons that killed her little sister, Marian Hawke thought her family was broken forever. Little did she know, a new kind of family awaited her in her new home.





	1. Golden Shores

**Author's Note:**

> I hate doing author's notes, but I feel like this might go better with some explanation. Feel free to skip this note if you like. 
> 
> I really enjoyed Dragon Age II, but whenever I find myself enjoying an RPG, I find myself stifled by the lack of options. I tend to want to take the story in a different direction; in this case, I wanted my Hawke to be polyamorous rather than choosing between lovers. So I did what I often do: I imported her and the rest of the characters into Pathfinder and did some roleplay in our custom setting. This story came out of that thread. 
> 
> A note about the characters: pretty much everyone should be recognizably themselves save for one gestalt character. I felt Fenris really needed more depth, so I combined him and Zevran into one character. I really like how it turned out, but if you're a huge fan of either you may not like the result. Also, I take a rather dim view of Carver.
> 
> One more oddity: In this story, I skip most of the combat scenes. I like how it turned out, but this is a character-driven piece rather than an action-packed adventure.

'Your sister's a witch, you know'. The words still ring in Carver's ears, hours later. 'We're gonna burn her like the others!'

He knows it isn't true. Bethany is just a little different. Those weird occurrences had been coincidences. There wasn't any magic in his family; there never had been. It was all just nasty rumors. Just children playing at something they didn't understand. He's smarter than that, stronger. He didn't need to pick on someone weaker than him just to feel manly. He was fifteen now. He was a man no matter what they said.

His whole life, Carver and his siblings had lived in Golden Shores. Without anything to compare to, he couldn't have said if it was a hard life or an easy one. The fear of witchcraft had been drilled into him young; despite crouching in the shadow of Nyra, the city of magic, Golden Shores had a long enough history with the darker side of magic to have shunned it entirely. If they could have, they would have tried to become a protectorate of Glaley, but the two hundred fifty miles between the cities was too far even if the ideologies matched.

Like any village in Aldis, Golden Shores saw the occasional attack: large carnivorous beasts, smaller goblin raids or packs of wolves, even the occasional bandits desperate enough to harass farmers. To protect the village, they kept, not a proper Guard, but a simple Watch. Carver always pictured his future in the Watch, while he assumed Bethany would marry and bear children like the other women in town. It was his oldest sibling, Marian, he worried about. 

Marian was going to be trouble.

~*~

Bethany had always felt a small, private thrill when she let Marian convince her to do, well, anything. Her elder sister has a way of turning even a simple chore like going berry gathering into something more, something fun and a forbidden.

Like a divination ritual.

Sure, she knows very well it's not real. Divination was difficult magic to pull off even at the best of times, and this was probably just something Marian made up five minutes after suggesting the idea Still... It doesn't hurt anyone, no matter what the old biddies in the square always say. She knows very well that they'll be lucky to even get a sensible 'reading' much less a good set of directions to a prime berry patch. But that's not the point. The point is to have a bit of harmless, slightly naughty fun with her big sister.

So caught up in the pomp and gravity of their little ritual is Bethany, that she doesn't hear the door open. It's not until she sees movement, hears her twin's voice, that she realizes that there might just be some harm in this after all: a fight between her siblings.

~*~

Carver Hawke let himself into the front parlor. Mother was bound to be still at work, so he had a duty to look after Bethany. His twin wasn't as strong as he was. She needed his help to accomplish simple tasks, such as washing or cooking. But he didn't mind. He was magnanimous that way. Always so mature and kind.

He pulls the door shut behind him, turning to find Marian and Bethany sitting on the floor. The table had been shoved to one side, and candles were set out in a circle, burning merrily. As he watches, Marian sets aside a bundle of sticks, reading the lines on the other: "Old yang. Bethany, what's my fortune?"

Rage burst through Carver then. Before he could think what to do, he was in motion, the sticks flying out of Marian's hands, scattered across the living room for. "You stupid--! What are you doing?!"

Cringing, Bethany ducks her head and starts pinching out the closest candles. "Carv... it's just- it's nothing really, just a bit of nothing. Please don't...." she pleads softly.

It almost works. Bethany was so sweet, so innocent, that Carver usually felt bad yelling at her. He wasn't a monster, after all, just a concerned, three-minutes-older brother.

But then stupid Marian thrusts her way between them, shouting back at him: "Don't call her stupid!" And the rage boils over again. She was missing the point! They were going to get killed because of her stupid face! Didn't she even care about Bethany, let alone herself?!

"Don't be a damn idiot then!" he shouted. She got up in his face, snarling, so he shoved her, just to give himself more room....

Bethany pales a little, knowing that Marian is simply incapable of backing down now that he's pushed her and knowing that Carver is just as stubborn... She can usually talk either one of them down if she really tries- being the baby of the family can be frustrating but it does have its benefits. But not both of them, not when they're angry with each other. She simply can't talk fast enough to reach both of them, and focusing on one just means the other will open their stupid mouths and restart the fire.

Hunching down, she continues to clean up the candles. The last thing they need is for their stupid fighting to spark a real fire because they knocked over a candle. At least Mother won't be home for hours yet... that's the worst, when she gets involved in one of their fights, because then their anger gets smothered by guilt and resentment before it can burn out cleanly. Which just leads to it erupting later for no real reason, meaning the fight simply resumes another day out of nowhere but worse because they've had time to simmer.

Pinching out the second to last candle, she hisses softly. She'd reached for it, rather than move too close to the about-to-a-fight, and hadn't squeezed fast enough to end the fire before it could singe her. Stupid sibs... why do they always have to argue and fight? Can't they just once talk things over like family? No, they're both so damn prideful so caught up in being... being... right, or proper or whatever fool thing is so blasted important to them on a given day.

Carver takes a step back, staggering under the weight of a shove; Marian follows, pressing her advantage. The two are well used to scrapping by now, and more or less evenly matched despite Marian's size advantage from being a few years older. Carver would say he wants it more. Marian would say, he fights dirtier. Either way, this is likely to carry on a while.

And either way, Bethany doesn't see whose foot hits the last candle. She does, however, see the rug it falls onto begin to smoke as the flames catch...

It's stupid really. It's not like the rug was expensive. Or a gift. It was just something Papa bought. The last thing he bought for the house before... before. It's really, truly is stupid to get upset over it getting damaged just because her siblings are acting like a pair of horses' rears. Like stupid, inconsiderate, careless jerks. Who don't ever seem to really care about how much effort she puts into keeping their home nice and welcoming. Sure, they offer an absent thanks before eating the dinners she makes or maybe give a vague nod when they notice- if they notice- that she's re-stitched the covering for the chairs because they were faded and old. But they don't really care. Just like they don't care how their arguments always seem to make her life harder.

Her fingers throb a little, reminding her of the light burn on pointer and thumb. And now she'll have to go pick berries- probably by herself- with burnt fingers. Which will just love being coated in berry juice and scraped by branch and leaf. Her hands clench for a moment as she tries to force down her temper. She's a Hawke too, even if she's the baby of the family. She tries to be sweet and kind and gentle and it's not an act, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have the same fiery temper the rest of her family has. But no, she has to force it down, keep it bottled up because someone has to be the peacekeeper and it's sure not going to be Carver or Marian.

She starts suddenly, realizing she's been blankly staring at the now seriously aflame rug for several seconds. Her siblings are finally, finally starting to notice it as well but don't seem to care- the more charitable, more fair part of her mind suggests they're just caught off-guard. But that seeming indifference, how they're so caught up in fighting, again, with each other just-just- she can't-

Something in her head snaps a little. The rug is coated in a layer of ice, the fire snuffed out. Dimly, she realizes she'd said something, something sharp and lilting, but all she can focus on is almost delicate pattern of frost on the rug.

The silence is palpable. But it only lasts a few long seconds.

"They'll burn you." Carver's always been the one to say the blunt thing, but his tone is hushed now, as if he's only just realized it's true.

"Never." Marian's voice is confident. She's not in denial -- she just won't let anything happen to her baby sister.

Bethany just stares at the rug. Voice distant even to her own ears, she comments, "the rug is ruined. I don't think I can... fix it."

Marian bundles Bethany up into a hug, petting her hair and making soft, soothing noises. Carver, not much of a hugger these days, moves to bundle up the rug and hide it. He can come up with a good lie.. probably... right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rug was the least of their worries. Over next few days, all three Hawke siblings feel like they are walking on eggshells. Anything unusual happening in the house would set off a spike of fear in each of their hearts: did something happen with Bethany? Were they about to get caught? Marian has twice as much to worry about; the queer feelings in her breast showed no signs of stopping, and she lies awake at night wondering if she's next.

The talk of witches spreads. The whispers continue. Carver is on pins and needles day in and day out, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Marian starts teaching Bethany to throw a punch, with limited success.

Saturday afternoon, the family gathers in the kitchen to prepare supper -- peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, trying to get things into the stewpot so they could disperse to do other chores. Carver had been trying to convince Leandra to take them on a trip, get out of town for a bit. "We could go somewhere educational, like Glaley. It'd be good for Bethany."

Eyes firmly on the tubers in front of her, Bethany offers in a meek tone, "I... it might nice. Ummm, seeing a city. I don't think I'd want to live in one but a visit might be nice, I suppose."

Leandra sniffs disdainfully. "Cities are expensive, crowded and dirty. Some of them might be... tolerable, but they're not for you." She gives her oldest two a stern look each, "Marian'd be shamed out of town in a night and Carver would just get in fights." She reaches over to pat Bethany's hand. "No, you're fine just as we are, dear. This is home."

"But Mother, I really think--"

Carver's cut off, not by speech, but by the sudden pealing of the town church bells. They already sounded off noon; this isn't the normal marking of the day's passing, but instead the discordant clanging of the town emergency alarm. Marian drops the carrot she was holding, gripping the knife close; she's not trained in knife fighting, but she feels safer with a weapon in hand.

Bethany jolts, then quickly stuffs the suddenly frozen hunk of potato she was peeling into the pocket of her apron. "Umm, what-"

"Carver, run and see what that's about. Marian, stay with your sister and for once, use some judgment!" Leandra snaps out, rising quickly to grab their savings and a cloak, just in case.

Carver bolts out the back door, grabbing his cloak on the way. Marian stuffs the knife into her belt, moving to Bethany's side. "Come on. Let's get to the basement." Like most homes in Golden Shores, their single-story bungalow had a substantial reinforced basement -- complete with a steel door with a good lock, in case whatever it was smelled food and was hungry. If the bells were ringing, this wasn't something large-but-harmless passing through, after all.

A bit pale, Bethany grips her sister's arm tightly as she follows; not, however, before tossing a pail of ash on the cookfire. If the house is attacked, the intruder causing a fire, even by accident, would be just the last thing they'd want. Wordlessly, she follows after Marian.

Upstairs, Leandra finishes grabbing their money stash from her room and heads for the basement as well. Midway through the room, she pauses, her eyes on the small portrait of her Elven husband. _It's sentimental, but..._ Only her eldest took after her husband; the children of a human and an elf were sometimes human, sometimes elven, and sometimes Merikos, a cross of bloodlines. Malcolm had adored his Merikos daughter; it was only after the twins were born human that he...

Seconds later, she's with her daughters, trying to discretely set the painting down before either of them can comment on it. "It'll be fine, Bethie," she says softly. "Probably just another herd of megaloceros or something gotten too close to the town and spooked old Janis again."

Marian keeps her arm around Bethany, trying to seem confident. If her little sister thinks she's afraid, she might panic, and they need to keep a level head. She just has to wait it out. It'll be fine.

The minutes tick by, and the bells don't stop pealing. Finally, Carver bursts into the basement, staying at the top of the steps. "We have to leave down. Now. We're not safe here!" That said, he turns immediately to leave again.

 _Well, that's just really terrifying._ Bethany's grip on Marian's arm tightens painfully for a second. "Right, of course," she says in a breathless voice. The practical side of her brain leaps forward and she lurches away from her sister to grab small canvas bag. They rotate out the contents every season, but it's filled with travel bread and some basic camping supplies, a habit ingrained in the family by Papa well before Bethany can really recall.

No longer paying any care to the painting, Leandra hurries after her son. "Carver, what is going on young man?" she snaps at him.

Carver whirls, grabbing as if for a knife that he's not wearing. "We have to go, Mother! They're coming!"

"Who is coming?" she badgers him, though she is heading up the steps. Behind her, Bethany shoulders the pack, gives Marian a worried look, and follows as well.

"Demons."

Carver had left the front door open; he bolts for it now, taking no care to guard his sisters coming up behind him. As they pour out into the street, they smell smoke, hear the screams mixing in with the peal of bells. Down the street, they saw the end of a black snake tail the size of a log disappearing between two buildings.

Leandra comes to a complete stop in the doorway, almost causing Bethany to crash into her. "W-what?" she demands in a hoarse whisper. Marian can feel a sudden icy chill on her hand and see her breath puff in front of her.

Carver, noticing nobody following, turns back from a little way up the street. "Hurry!" he shouts, his voice hoarse. Shit, shit shit -- there's no way that snake didn't hear him.

Marian rushes after him, reaching up with a hand, hoping to grab his head and clamp her hand over his mouth. He jumps back, eyes narrowed, expecting an attack. "Idiot!" he hisses, softer this time.

Acting completely on instinct, Bethany pulls out that frozen hunk of potato hurls it over the building so it'll land where that side alley leads to. Leandra gives her a double-take, then nods firmly. Waving her hands sharply, the older woman points towards the village's temple to Astea. If anywhere is safe, it'll be there.

With an nod, Carver starts moving, Marian shortly behind him. She finds herself tempted to hold her breath as she walks, fearing every noise. They won't survive if it comes to direct conflict with something like that. She's doubtful they'll survive if it comes to direct conflict at all. But she needs air, and so, she takes quick, quiet breaths now and again through her nose, preferring the pungent smell over the chance of coughing due to smoke inhalation.

She tries not to think about the fact that everyone she knows outside her immediate family is probably dead already.

The way is mostly clear, thankfully. They only run into a single demon, an almost melted looking blubbery thing in the shape of a somewhat oversized man, and it's so busy eating someone's horse that it doesn't notice them as they slip by it. Bethany manages to hold it together long enough for them to get around a corner before she vomits, clinging to her mother so her older siblings are free to move.

Finally, finally, they reach the church. Which is partially burnt, but still intact. Bright Braiden and Bright Saihou can be seen standing the doorway, she with a ichor covered axe and he with a glowing holy symbol. There are some bodies, decaying unnaturally fast in the yard to show their successes, but Bright Saihou has a rather alarming amount of human blood on her clothes and Bright Braiden is pale and exhausted looking.

Marian grabs Bethany's arm and starts to make a run for it. The sooner they get into the church, the sooner they're safe. Carver curses under his breath, looking over his shoulder before he jogs after them.

Leandra lets out a muffled squawk of indignation as she yanked by way of Bethany along as well. Bright Braiden spots them coming and shouts for them to hurry- as if they were leisurely taking their time, a sarcastic part of Bethany's mind murmurs bitingly. Because the village is always on fire and filled with evil monsters and they're just out for a lovely afternoon stroll.

Regardless, a few moments later, and the Hawke family is inside the church, able to rest for a moment. "What- how did this happen?" Leandra demands shrilly.

Carver looks grim, his gaze distant, as if seeing horrors in the walls of the church. "Witches." He says, grimly.

"Bull." says Marian, with a scowl. "There aren't any witches, not anymore."

"The purge must not have gotten them all. They're back, and they've summoned demons to enact their vengeance on the town."

"How could you possibly know that? You know as little about this as I do," snaps Marian. "You just have a problem with mages."

"I have a problem with demons!"

Bethany shivers, hugging herself tightly. "Could- could we not fight?" she begs. Leandra reaches over to wrap an arm around her and glares at her eldest children. "Why don't you two go and be useful," she snaps at them. "Find out what happened or see if you can help while I try to comfort poor Bethany."

Carver scowls. _It's always Bethany, isn't it, mother? Just because father died and abandoned you, you only love your daughters. Never me. Well, I'll prove I'm worth more than my twin. I'll show everyone._

As he stews, Marian heads to Bright Braiden, her stomach heaving. "What happened? Why are there demons attacking Golden Shores, Brightness?"

Bright Braiden doesn't look away from the exterior of the church. "I was here when the warning was sound. Mother Septim is trying to treat the injured in the main chapel, perhaps she knows more," he calls to them, voice tight with stress and fatigue.

Bethany takes a deep breath, then pushes away from their mother. "We- we should go help. Carter knows some basic healing, right?" she asks, offering her twin a wan smile.

Carver shakes his head. "And leave Mother undefended?"

Marian rolls her eyes, offering an arm to Bethany. "I'll join you. Let's see what we can do."

Leandra gives Carver a disappointed look as she follows her daughters, but before she can make it to the chapel proper, she's intercepted by one of her friends almost tackling her with deep sobs. Bethany, feeling like a heartless coward, quickly pulls Marian onward. Helping comfort her might be a kind thing to do, but she thinks they could be of more help with the injured, even if only as an able pair of hands. Besides, Goody Ranchin is... not someone she can easily muster compassionate words for.

The chapel is worryingly empty. Golden Shores isn't a huge village, but there are still a few hundred people living there. So to see the safest place in the village holding only some score or so people...

Before they can find Mother Septim, a thin wail fills the room as a little girl clings to her very still father. "Marian," Bethany breathes out, clearly near tears herself.

Marian takes Bethany's hand, squeezing it tightly, as she steers her away from the little girl. She scans the crowd, spotting a man with burns over a good deal of his shirtless torso, and makes a beeline for him. "Here, let's see if we can find ointment," she says, trying to distract Bethany with something she can solve.

The next ten minutes go by in a blur as Mother Septim is quick to take advantage of having two uninjured and able, if untrained, pairs of hands to assist in the work. Finally, those within their skill range seem to be helped, leaving the pair a moment to breathe. It... it's disturbingly fast really- there aren't many people that made it to the church and more than a few of those that did are beyond help. Divine healing is limited and some of the people here are suffering from foul toxin that resist even that.

Drawing herself away from where she'd been leaning on her sister, Bethany takes a step towards Mother Septim, who was also taking a breather. She'd run out of spells before the pair had even arrived and was forced to fall back on her decades of experience and what supplies they had on hand. "Mother... what- how did this all happen?" Bethany asks with a quivering voice, gaining the attention of a few other people scattered around the area as well.

Mother Septim shakes her head with a small sigh. "Nobody knows. A summoning gone wrong, looks like. They are multiplying, which implies they have no master -- or if they do, it is one that means to end this village once and for all."

Bethany shivers, feelings of sadness and anger mixing with bafflement. She can understand being curious about magic, even doing rituals and such- she tries to avoid hypocrisy when she can- but why summoning? Even summoning an elemental or pavitra always sounded chancy and unwise to her. She can't fathom the thought process that ends with 'summon an evil, evil thing that intrinsically wants to kill, enslave, eat and/or, rape you' without also having 'don't do this' or 'hey, this is really stupid' as the very next step.

Before she can say anything else, if she can even find words enough to share, Leandra comes bursting into the chapel. "Bethie! Where- we have to flee! There's-" A thunderous roar drowns out her words, just as Mother Septim gasps and stumbles. As the roar fades away, the holy woman moans in despair.

"The blessings- they've- we're lost."

Marian doesn't think. She doesn't have time for that -- she has to protect Bethany. She leaps into action, drawing her knife, running toward the danger -- toward the front door where Leandra just came in. She'll hold the door while her family escapes. She can do this. She can be the hero Golden Shores needs -- the hero her family needs.

Which makes it all the more shocking when the back door, where Leandra and Bethany are heading, bursts open. At first it seems like it's a man at the door seeking shelter; he's clearly been badly wounded, as his body is deformed, mutilated, hunched. A second glance reveals horns, talons, and a tail. The demon is swift as he lunges toward the fleeing humans, before Marian can so much as call a warning.

Bethany shoulders her mother out of the way and steps forward to-to- to do something. She has no idea what, really. No plan, no weapon, no nothing but she has to try. Has to do som-

"Huuuk."

Bethany reaches out with one hand to grip the demon's wrist, its hand currently sunk into her chest deeply enough that the tips have exited out the back. "I-" Blood dribbles out of her mouth, slowing her speech. "Marian?" she asks plaintively.

The sound seems far away, muted, as though Marian was in the bath. It was an irritating sound, whatever it was. A high-pitched sound, piercing through the crowd. It seemed oddly resonant with the squeezing in her chest, as if something had taken hold of her heart and given it a firm wring. Maybe that's what was making that godawful wail.

The demon laughs, a discordant and broken noise that knows no joy, no mirth. Then with a sudden, savage twist, shreds and pulps Bethany's right lung. Bethany lets out a pained sob.

"O **ne** down." It pauses, then sniffs the air and shifts its gaze to Leandra, then Marian. "Sha _ll_ old **o** r yo _un_ g be next?" The demon grins, showing a toothy maw filled with mismatched fangs. "I think... **young** ," it rasps out, its gaze still on Marian.

"No."

It flicks its gaze back to Bethany for a second, then back to Marian. "As if you could-"

"No!"

Bethany's hand tightens around the demons wrist, which is suddenly encased in several inches of solid ice. The demon doesn't seem to be pained by the magic, but it is startled. "What _**ha**_ ve you **done**? Sto **p th** is!" it demands as the ice rushes up to cover the entire upper half of the demon- and all of Bethany's arm and most of her torso.

"Fuck. Off," the youngest Hawke says firmly, a bare second before both figures are entirely covered in several inches of hoar-frost covered ice.

As the demon speaks, the unnatural calm in Marian shatters. The scream that tore itself from her throat cuts off abruptly, and she breaks into a dead run, knowing it's too late knowing she won't make it knowing she has to try anyway--

She stumbles when she sees the frost, skinning her knee in an uncontrolled fall. She sees Carver race forward, beating against the demon's frozen back, and she's up again, moving, locking her arms around her brother, dragging him away.

"No! Bethany! BETHANY!"

The tears won't stop flowing and Carver won't stop screaming and she has to fight him for every step, but she drags her brother to the other door. "We have to go," she forces out through clenched teeth as she passes her mother. She can't drag Carver and Leandra both, and given the choice, she has to save her brother, for Bethany's sake.

Jolting at the sight of Carver's violent desperation, Leandra's back stiffens and she rises to her feet. "This way!" she snaps out, grabbing a candle holder to serve as a makeshift staff as she strides towards the back door. Hopefully that was the only demon coming from that direction... Leandra looks startlingly competent with the metal rod, her gait balanced and rather more graceful as she carries it in one hand while resting it on the other.

Behind them, there's screams and shouts from the front of the church and a few of the more mobile injured start to follow after the Hawke family. Somehow, they get out of the church, without Bethany. Somehow they drag themselves to the city limits, hitch a ride on the Browns' wagon. Without Bethany. Somehow, they and the other refugees, all that's left of the once prosperous Golden Shores, make their way to the only safety they can find: the city of Nyra.

Without Bethany.


	2. Long Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now living in Nyra, Hawke meets her first few Companions and starts to settle into her new life.

Carver doesn't speak for the remainder of the day; as the refugees flee the burning remnants of their former home, their band growing smaller and smaller all the while, he lapses into a stunned silence, numbly following after his mother and sister. Nor does he speak to them the next day, as the few adults remaining argue about where to go -- some feel Nyra must be worse, while others point out that it won't be long before the demons follow them, and they surely don't have time to make it to Glaley. He doesn't object when Nyra is chosen; he barely seems aware that a decision is made at all. He doesn't say a word as Leandra introduces them to their uncle, nor does he make any move to stop Marian as she joins up with the rescue party, offering to guide them back to where the demons are if they'll please just destroy the monsters that tore apart her family.

This last bit is what makes Marian's homecoming so hard to bear: Carver's finally decided to open his mouth.

"I'm just saying, you didn't try very hard to save her!"

Marian cannot, cannot believe the words coming out of her younger brother's mouth. Didn't try hard?! The idea is incomprehensible. "I did everything I could for Bethany, don't you DARE lay that on me!"

"Then why is she dead!"

Gamlen is wise enough to not say what he's thinking -- _no, the question is 'why are you all still in my house'_ \-- but he's not wise enough to keep it off his face. Luckily for him, Leandra is more interested in berating her children than looking at her brother. "Because some- some fool summoned demons! And don't blame your sister, at least she was there to try in the first place!"

Why does the defense only make Marian angrier? She turns her wrath on her mother, shouting, "Don't blame this on Father! He'd have been there if he could!"

 _Some of us are trying to have lunch_ , Gamlen grumbles silently as he hunches over his bread and cheese.

"You don't know that!" snarls Carver, spoiling for a fight with anyone, so long as he can vent this anger in him. "He's probably off gallivanting around the world, nevermind his children--"

"For all you know, he's dead!"

"Your father has nothing to do with this!" Leandra snaps out. "And stop yelling, you're being rude to your uncle." Said uncle suddenly looks up, eyes wide at suddenly being pulled into this bullshit. "Bethany doesn't deserve to be remembered this way, with all this shouting and- and finger pointing," Leandra continues.

"Exactly!" shouts Carver, jabbing a finger at Marian.

Marian rolls her eyes, grabbing her cloak off the cloak-stand. "Whatever. I'm going out."

"Don't you just walk away from me, young lady," Leandra snaps, hands on hips.

 _Follow her_ , Gamlen begs silently. _Both of you. Maybe to Glaley._

"Don't shout, don't point, don't leave -- what am I to do then, Mother?!" snarls Marian, without turning around.

Leandra is taken aback but only for a second. "Support your family. You're the eldest, Marian, and old enough to find work. Have you had any luck applying at the guard yet?"

"I only just got back from giving them a favor," she points out.

"Which is the perfect time to ask," Leandra points out triumphantly.

Gamlen swallows a bit of food and adds, "would be nice if you lot chipped in a bit. Expensive hosting three people and all."

"I'm sure," Marian snaps, bitterly. "What would you have done if Bethany had lived? Been out of house and home I'll bet."

"Marion! That's no way to speak to your uncle." She pauses, then gives him a bit of a look. "Even if he's not exactly done well by our family here."

Gamlen glares back. "Easy for you to say! City living is hard, especially when everyone just up and leaves because of an 'elf with pretty eyes'."

"You see? If Father were here--"

"Father is dead. Bethany is dead. Grow up, Carver."

Carver takes a step toward her, his hands balled into fists. This time, to stop from hitting him, she really does leave -- slamming the door behind her. Then she's off and running, her eyes blurring with tears she won't accept, won't acknowledge, refuses to shed. She can't, she won't, let it get to her. She needs to grow a thicker skin if she's going to survive here in this forsaken city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nyra wasn't truly forsaken, Marian had to admit. The way the lights came on as it got dark enchanted her: little globes of witch-light on wrought-iron posts, dimming into view like clockwork every day at sundown. She'd snuck out of Coalside, the poor area (and the only place they could afford to live), from time to time; the rest of the city had clean streets, charming houses, neat sidewalks. The streets were cobblestone rather than dirt as her home had been, and many buildings were made of an unfamiliar stone, seeming as though it had been melted and poured into place rather than carved into bricks.

Coalside was a special hell, though. They didn't live in the worst part of town, not quite, but it was bad enough. Their "flat" was a third of a house, a few rooms with boarded-up windows casting the whole place into perpetual twilight. It would be miserable for one, let alone two adults and two teenagers. Let alone with a whole shelf taken up by a candlelit shrine to their sister, as befit their status in mourning. Anything had to be better than spending time in that squalor -- working, palling around with neighborhood kids, joining a gang... anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sign said "Help wanted", so Marian had intended to go alone to apply -- only, Carver tagged along, for some reason. They were barely on speaking terms the past few weeks; it felt like everything was going to boil over at the drop of a hat. She barely acknowledged her brother following her as she went to meet with this Bertrand fellow -- not that he made it easy to ignore him. "Slow down! Not all of us are giantesses," he panted, tagging along after her.

Ten minutes later, Marian is back on the streets. She knows the look of a man who wouldn't be persuaded -- she's' small, and skinny, and hadn't a lick of magic she could control. To this Bertrand, she was a child, nothing more. But Carver had something to prove, so he'd stayed inside, arguing their case. Marian didn't care. _There's other coin out there, even if I have to earn it on my back._ She figured she'd pay Gamlen as little as possible, save up, and run away from all this. This city was nothing to her. Hell, most days this family was nothing to her. Why would she stay?

So intent on her stewing anger is she, she almost doesn't see the redheaded dwarf. She barely manages to stop in time to avoid bowling him over.

"Woah there, lass," the dwarf says with a laughing voice. "I know my brother's ugly but he's not that bad." Stepping back, he takes a longer look at her. His eyes spot the tears barely held back, the resentment and desperation simmering just under the skin. "Name's Varric," he says easily, offering his hand.

"...Marian Hawke," she says, offering a fist. She has to take a deep breath before she can force it to unknot into a handshake, but she shakes his hand readily enough. "I'm looking for work."

"Anything in particular? You look healthy enough. Good grip. Better manners than most folk your age or even double it even just from knowing you this single minute," he asks, a pleasing smile on his face and a gentle firmness in his headshake.

"I'll take anything, so long as it pays. The more it pays the better." She forces a smile onto her face, but it comes off as a grimace.

"That's... a chancy thing to say to a stranger," Varric observes neutrally. "Might be taken the wrong way, if the stranger's the wrong sort."

 _So that's what he's proposing._ A moment ago she was ready to do literally anything to get out of that house, to get away from her family. Now that it's staring her in the face, she balks. Would she really throw away her future, her reputation, just for that greedy uncle of hers? She can't even pretend it would benefit Carver -- he'd be disgusted with her, and probably refuse any coin she brought in. She can almost hear Bethany's sweet, soft reprimand: she can't risk her health like this. They'll get through it together, no matter what.

Entirely inappropriately for the conversation, she bursts into tears.

"Okay, that's- please don't do that. I can't deal with crying girls," Varric says, clearly flustered a little. "Ummm. Look, I'll buy you an ale if you stop crying. I mean, uh, juice? Milk? I forget what kids drink. Not ale probably. Please stop crying." He half-reaches for her a few times, seemingly to pat her shoulder or something but falters.

Marian wipes at her eyes furiously, trying to get control of herself. "S-sorry. It's just, I just.. I need to find work. That's all."

"Can you read and write in Dwarven? Or even Common? How about maths?" he asks, glad that she's calming down. Gesturing at her, he moves over to the side of the building to a bench.

Marian nods, moving toward the bench as he leads her. The shame is overpowering the misery and fear, slowly but surely; she reddens, as her tears dry up. She just needs to focus. She needs to get through this without further embarrassing her family name.

In Dwarven, she stammers out, "I can read and write." Switching back to Common, she adds, "I got good marks in my math classes."

"Hey, not bad. Your accent is a touch soft, but good cadence," he says with some surprise. "Alright, so you know both languages I'd need most and you say you're good with maths. Know what a percentage is? What would a six percent tariff on a four-hundred fifty gold cargo cost me?"

 _Six per-cent, that's six out of a hundred, on four hundred fifty..._ Marian goes a little cross-eyed trying to do the sum in her head. Six percent of four hundred is four times six is 24 gold, plus fifty is half a hundred times six is 3, so... "Twenty-seven gold." she announces, after a moment.

Varric grins at her. "Correct! And pretty good for in your head. If your handwriting is readable at speed, then I think I can use you. Bertrand - that's my brother, the ugly grump you probably spoke to just a bit ago- is, well, an ugly grump so he chases off assistants pretty often, hence the constant need for me to find new ones. It won't start out paying great, but if you can stick it out for three months, there's a raise waiting for you."

Marian nods. Three months... she can probably squirrel enough away to get her own place by then. How much could a flat cost? "What does it pay?" she wonders aloud.

"Seven copper, plus lunch is provided, as long as you don't mind pork stew and stone biscuits everyday," Varric replies. "Goes to a silver after three months. And- do you speak, read and write anything other than those two languages? Know any magics?"

Marian can't help herself -- she gives a small shudder at the idea of magic. "No, I don't." she says, a bit curtly.

"Ooookay, there's a story there, I imagine," he says slowly. "So is that a no on the other languages as well then?"

"I'm learning a little Elven, but I had to stop when my village burned down with all my books in it," she admits.

Varric stares a little. "You're from Golden Shores?" he asks, a trifle thoughtlessly. "Ah, sorry. My condolences. Ah, will you need an advance to get something to wear or did the Waters of Mercy Fund get you set up?"

"The waters of what?" she asks, blinking. _First I've heard of it._

"Oh, the Refugee Fund. From the Bastion church?" Varric clarifies- make sense she might not know the official name.

"There's a Refugee Fund?!" Now she seems a bit angry. "Are you serious? I could have had-- how do I apply?"

Varric frowns. "You should have- when you first got here, they should have taken your name and set things up. You have a hour or two free right now? Bastion's church is less than ten minutes from here and I can get you talking to the right people easily enough." Rising to his feet, he offers her a hand. "Come on, assistant."

"Yes, sir!" she says, jumping to her feet. There had to have been a mistake, right? Gamlen wouldn't.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gamlen would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her first month on the job goes well. She proves herself to be a hard worker, dedicated to keeping this little clerk job that most would see as meaningless; as she gets settled in and gets more comfortable, she opens up more, becoming less mousey and nervous and more confident. The first time she cracks a snarky joke, Varric almost falls off his chair laughing before proclaiming her "alright, for a kid." She settles in. This city becomes, if not a home, a familiar place for her.

But little things begin to build up and worry Varric. Marian doesn't talk about her family much, grows quiet when the conversation turns to sibling rivalry. She often comes to work angry, hands balled into fists, but never talks about what's bothering her. Some days, her sarcastic comments become bitter, even harsh. It's easy to see her going down a bad path, becoming a street thug in the pursuit of more money, of an outlet for her anger.

And then one day she comes in with her eye blacked, swollen almost shut. She doesn't say a word about it, just goes to her desk and starts filling out paperwork, but it's impossible to miss her distress -- the temperature in the room drops about four degrees when she walks in, and continues on its merry way toward becoming a cold storage the longer she works.

Varric gives her a long look, then gets up to start a fire. "Bit of a shiner there. What's the other guy look like?" he asks in his normal faintly amused by life tone.

"Worse." Her tone is low, with a dangerous edge to it.

"Thatta girl. Want some salve?" he asks, finishing up with the fire and leaning against the wall to watch her.

Marian grips her quill tightly, shaking a bit of frost out of the plume. "Sure," she relents after a moment. "That'd be great. Thanks, Varric." Her shoulders slump as she releases some of the tension, settling into her chair.

Varric grabs some herbal cream from his desk and offers it to her. "So..." Alright, this should be easy. If he can out negotiate merchant barons and talk himself out of being arrested while drunk and wearing a dress while singing in a tree in Blossom Park in the company of not one but two ladies of questionable repute and a new business partner, he can surely talk to a human teenaged girl. "Wanna talk about it?"

Brilliant Varric. Bravo.

"No," she says curtly, tensing a little.

It's not true, not really. It's not even that she doesn't want to talk to him about this, or anyone. She'd love to talk about it. But every time she opens her mouth, every damn time she speaks up, a fight breaks out. Just this morning her mother was saying how she's a fire-starter, a spark that brings chaos and destruction everywhere she goes. She doesn't want to believe crap like that. She doesn't want to think she's responsible for the strife that's tearing her family apart. But she seems to make things worse every time she speaks up. Maybe it's better to stay quiet.

"Normally, I'd respect it when a lady says no, but in this case..." Varric shakes his head as he sets the cream down in front of Marian. "'cause I really get a 'yes but I'm worried about being silly or showing how upset you are' vibe from you right now."

She looks him up and down hesitantly, ignoring the salve for now. After a long moment, she admits, ducking behind her bangs, "I probably can't thump you, if you get mad. I know better than to pick a fight I can't win."

"Well, that's a good life skill," Varric says approvingly. "Any reason why we'd be fighting?"

"There's always fighting, ever since we moved to Nyra," says Marian, sullenly. She looks back down to her paperwork, hating the burning sensation welling up in her good eye.

 _Family troubles. Of course. Those are the best kind after all._ "Anything in particular the fights are about?" he asks carefully. Hawke's a good kid and a good worker, he'd hate for her to get caught up into anything too bad.

She groans, hanging her head. "What aren't they about? Marian's too loud. Marian's gone too often. Marian's slacking off. Marian's falling in with evil mages. Marian summons demons." Marian let Bethany die. "Marian eats too much food, costs too much. At least Carver gets that one too, for all that's worth. It's like everything that's gone wrong since Golden Shores is my fault and they want to make sure I remember that no matter what else I do."

"Costs too much?" Varric echoes, focusing on the one he feels best able to address. Money is his business after all. "You're bringing in almost four silver a week, even before the fact that you eat in the hall every day you work for lunch. What could you possibly need that costs more than that?" She's not ill or the like, he'd have noticed by now. She has a rather... personal dislike of gambling, even to the point of avoiding any of the trivial bets around the office. So where's the money gone?

She rolls her eyes. "My uncle took us in when we moved here. He's been complaining about the costs ever since. Greedy bastard," she adds in Dwarven.

Varric raises an eyebrow. "The same [greedy bastard dung-brained fool] that stole your refugee aid? That was almost twenty gold he pocketed right off..." He one-ups her curse in the same language, though the remainder of the sentence he utters in Common.

"The same." She sighs. "I'd love to wring his neck, but he's family, so I have to put up with it."

"Should've been a dwarf," he advises her sagely. "I end up punching Bartrem in the face at least twice a month and that's fairly light for an Orzammar dwarf. Figured you, your mother and brother would have moved out by now," he asks curiously.

"Mother isn't working; it's just what me and Carver can bring in, and..." She glances to the door, as if to check if anyone is coming in to eavesdrop, before adding, in a lowered voice, "I'm pocketing a good bit of what I earn, saving up to move out on my own."

Well, that's reasonable enough, Varric figures. "You're... what, seventeen by now? That's an adult by human reckoning, right? Close enough for most Merikos as well, no?" A pause. "Is your mother well?" He follows up, tone very careful.

Marian rolls her eyes. "Don't talk to me about Mother. I understand she's in mourning -- we're all in mourning -- but she just sits around doing needlework and wringing her hands about the Amell family fortune and how we could possibly have lost our title and don't you know we used to have a seat on the Guiding Lights before the Carrac family stole our seat."

"Is that right?" Varric asks, a little surprised by the history lesson. "Huh. Merchant family, weren't you? Jewelry or something? No, enchanted statuettes and figurines," he corrects himself as he tries to recall the details. "Wait. What did you brother end up doing?"

"Mercenary work. He's surprisingly good with a sword, for a boy. I think they mostly have him fetching and carrying, but he's getting better by the day." She shrugs. "I'm going to have to find some way of learning myself if I'm going to keep getting in scraps like this with him."

"I could teach you a few moves if you want. Not the most polite sorts of combat tricks, but very effective. More of a long-range fighter if I have to fight so I only know a bit, stuff good for putting someone down long enough to get away from them," Varric offers, glancing at the very heavy and modified crossbow leaning against his desk, then continues. "That's probably a few coins off what you make if he's just doing drudge work, but still would add up. So if you're chipping in even a third and he is as well, that's four silver a week. If your mother did the same, that's be over half a gold. That's more than enough to get your own place, away from Gammy."

She nods. "But mother won't work. She won't even hear the idea. She thinks it's beneath her, as a noblewoman."

"Bul-" A (fake) coughing fit interrupts Varric's first reaction to Leandra's reasoning. After a moment, he clears his throat. "Sorry. What I was going to say was, but it sounds like you kind of need her to work. Unless she's happy living in Gammy's shack for the rest of her life."

She nods. "As soon as I save enough, I'm moving to Glaley. Then she and Carver and Gamlen can all rot together."

Glaley? Varric makes a face. "Not the best place for half-elves, particularly ones with magic," he replies, then winces. _So about that silver tongue? Or basic tact? Fucking hells, Varric old chum, you need a vacation. Or, even better, need to get Bertrand to go on vacation. Preferably to another plane._

"Magic," she says, bitterly. "If I had magic it would be easier."

Varric stares a moment. "Hawke. It's summer."

"And?" She looks around as if seeing the room for the first time this morning -- complete with the hoarfrost forming on the desk beneath her.

"Yeah."

Marian sinks her head into her hands, letting out a low moan. She sees ice on a rug, on a pencil, on the back doorstep. Ice on a demon's back, ice on Bethany's face.

 _Okay, that's... not the right..._ "Hey... Hawke," he says softly, moving over to put a careful hand on her shoulder. "Control needs a little work but there's nothing wrong with having a gift."

"Golden Shores was burned to the ground by demons," she says, quietly. "I was there. My sister... My sister was killed right in front of me and I... I was too slow to help. If I'd had this power then, if I'd known.."

"'What if's are poison Hawke. Tempting poison, pretty poison, but poison," Varric says, slowly rubbing her back. "Have... have you talked with anyone? About your sister and... losing everything."

She shakes her head. "Unless you count Carver's constant whining about how I should have saved her." She means it to come out sarcastic, but a half-swallowed sob interrupts the latter half of the sentence. "She was Mother's favorite."

"No, I really don't." He does, however, plan on popping the idiot Hawke child a good one the first chance he gets. "You can talk with the Bastionites or the Asteans for free... or, uh, well, I'm no priest but if you want I can try..." he offers a touch fumblingly. Varric worships Alydra, though he's not the most pious dwarf that ever lived; Bastion and Astea's priests are more likely to be a comfort to a young girl.

Marian shakes her head. "It's not your problem, Varric. I just have to get away from them. Then I can heal. Probably." She takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "Bethany had talent with frost, and it led to her death. If I have the same powers... I need to learn to use them. And to hell with Carver."

"Well, you're in the right city for that... but ah, the offer stands. About talking. Heck, I'll even buy that ale I offered you a while back. Can't drink it in a tavern but I have a nice back yard with a range. We can have a few pints and you can fire a shots. Not with Bianca," he adds quickly. "I have some other bows and such you can borrow."

Marian nods, slowly. "I think... I think I'd like that." She gives him a shy, tired smile, letting a hint of her inner light show beneath the bruises and the tears. Somewhere, deep in there, there's a fighter, and she's ready to start fighting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marian easily earns the three-month raise, and another at six months in just for being so dedicated. Slowly, she stops talking about running away to Glaley, and focused more on getting her own flat in Nyra. Slowly, she starts learning how to shoot a bow, though she's not very good at it. Slowly, Carver stops whining so much; he never quite respects her, but he does turn his simmering anger into a cold hatred as they fall into comfortable patterns once more.

And slowly, Marian starts taking on.... side jobs.

Now eighteen, and able to drink in public, she waltzs into The Gilder Goose with _that_ look in her eyes: the one that means she's found new trouble to throw herself into, another way to gamble for her freedom. Without so much as a preamble, she drops an amulet on Varric's table, looking at him boldly as if daring him to argue. "I found a job. Split the pay?"

"How much bail and bribe money will this cost me?" Varric asks without looking up from his ale. He does signal the waitress with his free hand to bring a round for Hawke though.

"None, if we play our cards right." She looks serious except for the glint in her eye. She'd cut her hair short after she kept getting frost in it; now, with a pixie bob, she looks ready for adventure at the drop of a hat. She'd even gotten some leather armor from somewhere, and a real quarterstaff, though not a very good one. "I'm not sure what this thing does, but I know who will: if we head to Goldengreen, there's a elf encampment there that's said to be home to a lineage of master enchanters. We bring them the amulet, I bet you we can get a great price for it."

Varric eyes the amulet for a moment, then gestures her to sit as their ales arrive. After the server departs, he finally looks at her. "That... doesn't sound as bad as some of your ideas," he allows. "Where'd you find it?"

"That's the part you don't want to know," she says, with a slight smirk as she sips the ale.

"Kinda do, actually, but I'll humor you for now," he says dryly. " And why can't we just have someone down at the Bazar cast Detection on it exactly? I'm a dwarf, tiny legs, don't want to travel to... where the hells even is Goldengreen anyway?"

"It's not far, maybe a day's walk." She shrugs. "It's an elf community." _Like the one my dad might have been from,_ she thinks but doesn't say. "We could rent a mule for your stubby little legs," she adds, trying to sound enticing.

"Mules are food," Varric says firmly. "Crappy food at that. Come on Hawke, you can charm people better than this... I should know, I'm the one that taught you."

Marian smiles, leaning forward a bit, resting her chin on her hands. "The marketplace handles these items day in and day out; they know how to get the lowest price possible. Here we have a reclusive Elf community, rarely speaks to anyone without the right heritage, and they collect rare artifacts. I bet you we can pull the wool over their eyes and walk away with twenty gold easy -- half and half."

Varric nods approvingly. "Okay, that was much better. I liked the part where you tried to ease me in by making me part of the clever side of an 'us vs them' bit. Very nice." He considers it a moment, then gives her a slanted look. "How's your mother been?" he asks pointedly.

She shakes her head. "Nope, not falling for that. You in or out?"

"Was serious actually. I'm in, but not if this is just a hair-brained excuse to get out of the house for a few days," Varric parries.

"Great! We'll leave in the morning." She won't tell him about Carver's birthday yesterday. He'll be sure she's just trying to get out of the house then, and she needs this job. She's getting more and more desperate for cash -- but she's learning how to hide it better, from just about everyone but Varric.

Said dwarf gives her a knowing look... but lets it go. He's finding it harder and harder to not just tell her to move into his guest room, or at least offer her a loan so she can move out. She's a damn fine worker and has honor and loyalty in spades- not that he'd be too put out if she was never able to pay it back, she's a good kid and deserves a lucky break for once. "Fine, fine. You have a map this time? We get lost in some backwoods again, and I will leave you with the pixies this time."

~*~

Not only did she procure a map, it's reasonably accurate this time. Who would have been able to predict an early bugbear migration anyway? There weren't supposed to be bugbears until it was properly summer again, not just the first blush of an early spring. That's totally not her fault.

A little worse for the wear, they end up in a small encampment at the base of a small mountain. A large hill? One of the two. It's named as a mountain, anyway, even if the label is more aspiration than fact. The first few elves they see won't give them so much as the time of day, despite their wounds and weariness, despite Marian trying her best to charm them. She doesn't understand the problem -- she's got her ears uncovered, surely they can see she's one of them?

Maybe that dainty, pleasant looking young lady will help them get oriented. The elf girl in question, clearly still a youth by her race's standards, seems to be lost in thought and doesn't notice them until they're rather close. She finally does notice them when Varric deliberately allows Bianca to thump against his leg.

"Oh! Hello! You're... new? I don't think I've met you before though I suppose I could have just happened to miss you for... the last few decades. Suppose that's not entirely likely, come to think of it..." she babbles upon looking up and seeing Marian. Her eyes then widen as she spots Varric, who is staring back at her with amusement. "A dwarf? You really must be new! I can't see how I would have missed seeing you before. Unless maybe you stayed underground the whole time? Oh that sounds so sad... no sunlight or flowers or- do they have flowers underground? I'd think they would, flowers are very pretty and that seems important, but I've never really spent a lot of time underground."

She takes a breath to continue but Varric cuts in quickly. "No, we are in fact new. I'm Varric and this is Hawke."

Marian holds her hand out to shake. "Hi. We're a bit lost, I don't suppose you could direct us to someone who deals in magical artifacts?"

"Magical artefacts? That sounds interesting! I'm studying magic myself, it's very fun. Hard sometimes, there are a lot of rules and things to memorizes and then there's all the balance stuff to worry about even though I really think some of it is silly the Elders insist it's very important so I try but sometimes..." she trails off, an adorable look of conflicted perplexity on her face. "Oh! I'm Merrill. I forgot I didn't say that already. You said you were lost? You're in Goldengreen. At least I hope you are because that's where I am and it would be rather strange if you were somewhere else when we're talking to each other. Well, at least I think I'm in Goldengreen, I suppose it could be a dream. Or an illusion. Or maybe the Elders changed the name and didn't mention it? We don't talk much, the Elders and me."

Varric stares at the elf the entire time, seemingly counting something. "Merciful Naugrix, eighty two seconds of talking without a single inhale," he mutters with awe and apprehension. Louder, "so... magical artifacts?" he prods the elf.

Merrill blinks at him owlishly. Marian can't help it -- she doubles over laughing. "S-sorry," she sputters out, as she catches her breath. "Sorry, don't stop, you're perfect, I just-- you're not what I expected from an elven mage." Wiping the tears from her eyes, she straightens, shaking her head. "Are you the one to talk to about amulets?"

The elf considers this for a moment, then shrugs. "We could, yes. I've always wondered how that sort of things works. Like the ones that make your skin as hard as leather! I mean, that's really quite clever, but I wonder how they do it without making your skin feel all tough and hard. Oh, or the ones that prevent you from eating poison. Well, they don't prevent it really, just make it glow, which is supposed to make you not eat it. Though I suppose you could make food that normally glows and then put poison in that so people would eat it because it's supposed to glow. I wonder why assassins and spies and poisoner people haven't done that yet? Do you think it's because it wouldn't be as challenging anymore?"

Varric rubs his forehead. "Miss, ah, Merrill, we were hoping to find someone to buy a magical amulets, not just... talk about them."

"Then why didn't you say that?" she asks, sounding honestly curious.

"Because humans never say what they mean. They always talk circles around subjects, hinting at the real topic," explains Marian, patiently.

"Talk in circles?" Merrill asks brightly, clearly only hearing the first part. "That sounds fun! Do we spin in place or is it more like dancing in a circle around something?"

Varric groans softly, continuing to rub his forehead. "Neither. It's just a saying. So. Do you know anyone that buys magical amulets?" he presses.

Merrill ponders this new question a moment, then nods, then pauses, frowning. "Well, maybe? Elder Liswuld likes old things- which is nice, because he spends most of his time with the other Elders and they're rather old of course. But he doesn't like flat- I mean, doesn't like humans much. Or dwarves. Or halflings. Or gnomes. Or orcs. He really doesn't like orcs, come to think of it. Hmmm. Come to think of it, he doesn't seem to like most elves either, unless they're old. Or quiet, I think. Oh, or maybe Sillaway, she likes to wear lots of decorations, she might buy amulets if they're pretty. Is your amulet pretty, Miss Hawke?"

Marian digs in her pocket and brings out the amulet: a black, rounded moon of obsidian, with a flat back to lie against the skin. There are things moving in the depths of that darkness, things you can't possibly be seeing -- it's jet black, black like the depths of the underdark -- and yet, somehow, inexplicably, can. If you stare long enough, you can almost hear them whispering. The amulet feels cool to the touch, almost cold, like the grave.

So, you know, a friendly, happy little charm.

"I don't think it's pretty, per se, but it's interesting to look at?" she offers, holding out the charm to Merrill.

Merrill's eyes latch on the amulet and she lets out a tiny little squeak. A cute, adorable squeak. Eyes nearly impossibly wide, she just stares at it. With her eyes so wide and unblinking, Hawke and Varric both notice that her pupils are filled with tiny flecks of starlight that shimmer and drift in complex patterns.

Several moments pass, causing Varric to shift uncomfortably. He tries clearing his throat a few times without any success, then finally gives Hawke a 'what the fuck?' look.

Hawke clears her throat, louder this time, and then pockets the amulet. "Right, so, know anyone?" she asks, clearly unnerved.

Merrill finally blinks once the amulet is moved out of her line of sight. "I know lots of people," she says absently, slowly blinking some more. "Mostly elves, but all sorts of elves. Well, and now a dwarf," she adds, beaming at Varric.

Said dwarf is starting to wonder if this particular elf might not be a bit touched in the head. "Do any of the people you know seem the sort to buy the amulet Hawke showed you?" he prods. Merrill nods eagerly. "...which ones?" the dwarf presses in a tired voice.

Bouncing a little on her feet, she raises her hand up high. "I'm a person I know who'd buy the amulet." A pause. "Though... do you count as person you know? To yourself, I mean, obviously you count as a person I know, and I count as a person you know, but do I count as a person I know or do you count as a person you know?"

Varric manfully muffles a whimper. "Hawke, I miss the pixies."

Marian laughs again. "Who is your second choice for buying the amulet, after yourself? The second most likely, I mean," she corrects.

Merrill wilts- she should be used to this but... "Oh... ummm, I guess Elder Liswuld, if it turns out to be elven. If not, he'd probably tell you who else might buy it."

"Wonderful, thank you," Varric says briskly. "Ready Hawke?" No idea where this guy is, but he'd rather look around then ask for directions....

Hawke nods. "Of course." She smiles, cracking her neck from side to side.

Merrill offers an awkward smile and kind of waves at them. Varric turns to look around, trying to spot a likely place for an 'Elder.'

"Probably that biggish building near the oak," he decides. "Looks the fanciest anyway."

"Bye Marrill, nice to meet you," Marian says to the unfortunately socially inept elf. That was fun, but privately, she's a bit glad she'll never have to speak to her again. Once was exhausting enough.

~*~

"What do you mean, take Marrill with us?"

Elder Liswuld didn't want to buy the amulet without Eldest Marethari's approval, and Marethari had, in the way of sidequests since time immemorial, asked a favor in exchange for giving permission. With gold coins in her eyes, Marian had agreed before even hearing the request -- and before Varric could quite stop her. Now, upon hearing what she'd agreed to do, she was gobsmacked.

"Hawke, this is why we can't... sell nice things. You end up... buying a slave?" Varric turns back to Elder Marethari with a frown. "Actually, come to think of it, what exactly do you mean by 'take her?'"

"Hang on, I can't afford to feed a slave!" blurts out Hawke.

"Make her eat Gammy," Varric quips.

Hawke laughs as Marethari looks from one to the other. "Ah, no, not a slave exactly. It's no secret Merrill is flirting with magics beyond her understanding. She needs a teacher -- and she's likely to find one in Nyra."

"Not exactly?" Varric mutters. "You mean, you want us to play escort and tour guide? Make sure she's not eaten by bugbears. Or buys a bridge to the Hidden Land of Honest Scam Artists. I... guess that's not a bad deal... we're not expected to pay her way, are we?"

"Of course not. I will send her with enough coin to keep her for some time. All she needs is some gentle guidance."

Marian takes a deep breath. "Okay. I guess that's something we can do."

"We?" Varric mutters. "What, exactly, is wrong with the girl?"

"Nothing. She is merely... enthusiastic." The Elder smiles, benignly.

Varric gives her a disbelieving look. "...it's on your head, Hawke," the dwarf finally replies, a sentiment that the young woman knows is an outright lie. Neither of them have come close to the words, but they're far closer than simple business by now.

"I'll look after her. I promise." _Gulp._

~*~

The pair grown triad leave Goldengreen sixty gold richer and a lot noisier. Varric spends much of the first hour give Hawke sidelong 'I-told-you-so' looks while Merrill talks. About everything. She seems to simply be incapable of allowing it to be silent for more than a full minute at a time. And she's almost bouncing and skipping along, walking being far too prosaic for her tastes.

"Oh, what's that?" she asks, mid-story about one of the Elder's habit of curing meats in his living room.

Following her excited pointing, the other two travelers find themselves staring at a troll. Said troll is holding a massive club studded with sword blades in one hand and what looks like the back half of a horse in the other. Some of the rest of the horse falls from his mouth as the monster stares back at them.

"Hello! I'm Merrill! How are you? Oh, your eating, I don't mean to interrupt your meal, mister-"

**RARRRAAAGG!**

~*~

"Why. Couldn't. You. Know. Healing. Spells?" pants Marian, running for her life with Merrill in tow. _Ow ow ow ow ow fuck at least she hits hard. I'd have been toast when that thing grabbed me if it wasn't for her._

"Oh, I know one of those!" she babbles, annoyingly able to talk while still gasping for breath. "Just- thought he'd enjoy the pretty lights." And in fairness, that twisting ribbon of shimmering lights and colors had mesmerized the troll rather splendidly. Long enough for Varric to use a tanglefoot bag to lock it in place, which in turned granted them time enough to run away.

 _One?_ thinks the half-elf. "Dibs!"

 

Slowly falling behind, Varric saves his breath for running. Why, why, why does he keep letting Hawke talk him into this shit?

~*~

Marian is outright limping as they approach the gates of Nyra. The healing had been nice -- after the first injury. But for whatever reason, Merill just seems to have a built-in radar for trouble, and Marian was the one bound to keep her alive. She's pretty sure her ankle isn't meant to be that large or painful, but she'll be damned if she leans on Merill's shoulder, so limping it is.

Lucky for her, the guardswoman checking people as they come into town is a young, pretty redhead with freckles and a solid build under the fullplate. _Just my type,_ thinks Marian the Charmer, as she exaggerates her limp a bit in the hopes of getting pity. "Hi," she begins, breathlessly, cutting off with a wince.

The guardswoman gives Marian a single look, then sighs. "State your business in Nyra," she asks in a monotone.

Merrill opens her mouth to answer but then suddenly stumbles. Varric looks innocent as Marian speaks:

"Oh, I live here. I'm a refugee. I left for a few days to try and scrounge up some coin to help my struggling, hungry family." She sniffles, as if on the verge of crying.

Another placid stare. "Of course. You and your dwarf brother?" she asks blandly, giving Varric a glance. Then pauses, returning her gaze to stare at him. Varric tries to causally turn away a little.

She shakes her head. "He took me in when I had nowhere to go." She lowers her voice a little, letting real emotion show through: loyalty, and a bit of hidden pain. It's not hard to conjure up. From a certain point of view, it's even true.

The guard frowns, likely seeing the truth the lie is built upon. She gives Marian a glance, then back to Varric. "Tethras! Varric Tethras, brother of Bartrand," she says suddenly, her tone noticeably frosty on the name of Varric's brother.

"Ah, guilty? Figuratively speaking, of course," he adds quickly.

"I'm sure. So what scheme is this about?" she demands, hand resting on the hilt of her mace.

Before he or Marian can reply, Merrill finally sees an opening. "Oh! Oh! That's me! I'm the scheme. Or, well, I'm Merrill actually. But also they're helping me find Nyra. Which they did! At least I hope this is Nyra. It seems nice, even if it isn't, but the Keeper did want me to come to Nyra, not here, unless here is Nyra after all. In which case, hopefully I can find someone to teach me magic without projecting my mind into the aether forever like last time. Well, obviously not forever-forever, because I'm not still there unless I actually am still-"

Varric trods on her foot, muttering a clearly insincere apology. The red-head just stares, clearly trying to process all of that.

Marian smiles. "So you see, we had to bring her."

Reaching up to rub her forehead, the guard yanks her hand back once she realizes what she's doing. "That's debatable," she mutters, then straightens. "Alright, and who are you?" she demands, looking at Hawke.

"Marian Hawke. And yourself?"

"Guardswoman Vallen," she replies crisply. "You a citizen or just a visitor?"

"A citizen, Guardswoman. Do you want my address?" she asks, batting her eyes in some clumsy attempt to be flirtatious.

Stone face. "Yes. I have his already," she adds, flicking a glance at Varric, who merely smiles charmingly. "But I'll need to do a full intake on your... client."

 _Complete with a fee, of course._ Marian smiles disarmingly. "She won't be staying long. I must say, I love your outfit. Plate mail really suits you."

"It's standard issue," is the crisp reply. "Follow me. All of you. I'm thinking we need to question you all separately," she adds with a thin smile.

Varric stiffens a little, giving her a hard look in return. "Bit much for a simple outing to fetch a new student of our wonderful city," he says evenly.

"Tethras business is never simple," she replies curtly, earning a very slight wince from the dwarf, one that only Marian, with her greater familiarity, notices.

"I believe that's racial profiling," says Marian, still keeping her tone sweet.

"What's racial profiling?" asks Merrill. "Is that something to do with art? Oh, is that when you make a bunch of drawings of all sorts of people's faces? I think Hawke has a very pretty face, she'd be good for that. And you're very pretty too." She pauses and gives Varric an apologetic look. "I'm sorry but you're just handsome. Though I like your chest hairs. They look like they'd tickle."

Aveline pauses minute, about to reply to Marian before Merrill washes out the trail of her thoughts. "I... what? Just- just follow me."

 _Crap crap crap crap it's not working._ "Of course," says Marian, smiling broadly as she follows after Aveline. Once the guardswoman's back is turned, she flashes a "help me" look toward Varric.

Ten minutes later, the trio have been split up for individual interviews. Before being split, Varric managed to whisper, 'she's after my brother, just be honest, you don't know anything anyway.' The guardswoman finally enters, a slightly dazed look in her eyes hinting that she'd interviewed Merrill just before coming in here.

Guardswoman Vallen takes a moment, giving her a head a shake, before looking at the younger half-elf. "Marian Hawke, age eighteen. Currently living with her uncle, mother and younger brother. Formerly from Golden Shores," she finishes in a softer tone. "My condolences,"

Marian nods, looking down at her lap, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you."

Vallen hesitantly pats Hawke on the shoulder before quickly taking a seat across the table from the younger woman. "Right then. So what was your itinerary? When did leave, where did you go and so on- be concise but don't leave anything out."

"We went to Goldengreen, picked up Merill, and came straight back, no detours except being attacked by wildlife. Honest truth."

"When did you leave?" she presses, jotting something down on a parchment. "How long did you stay?"

"Three days ago, an afternoon." She shrugs. "It was a quick trip."

"Mmmhmmm," she says, the scritch of her quill almost louder than her voice. "And your cargo?"

"Just our gear," she squeaks, nervously.

" I see. And what else?" she asks idly. "What merchandise were you carrying? Do keep in mind that I'm only collecting corroborating evidence, Miss Hawke."

"I carried nothing into the city with me," she blurts out.

"So you carried something out then?" she replies easily, making another note. "What was it?"

"Just, an ordinary magical amulet. I sold it in Goldengreen."

"Ordinary and magical aren't works that are used together easily, even in this city," she observes. "And who gave you this amulet?"

"Nobody."

"Of course, of course," is the wry response. "It just appeared in your pack one morning?"

"What? No! I found it, that's all." She shakes her head, trying not to get twisted up in the interrogation. _Keep it together, Marian._

"Found it? You must be very lucky then... where did you get so lucky?" A beat. "An exact location, please."

"Just, you know, outside the city. I was exploring some caves." _Totally caves.... from a certain point of view._

"Mmmhmmm," she says again. Jots a note. Glances up at Marian with a piercing look. "And the owner of this cave?"

"N-nobody!" She swallows. _Crap. She thinks I stole it. Maybe I should make up a story..._ "...it might have been Varric's," she admits, trying to look guilty and sullen.

Vallen gives glimmer of satisfaction quickly hidden. "Oh?" she says leadingly. "Do go on."

"I, ah, I pinched it from his dresser when he wasn't looking. Please don't tell."

Vallen stills, just for a split second. "From his dresser," she repeats flatly. "Miss Hawke, now is not the time for evasions and lies. You're young yet, and in a position easily taken advantage of by those with less than admirable values. It's understandable that you've made some poor choices, and if you own up to them, mercy can be shown," she continues, in a warmer, softer tone. "But you have to be honest with me. Don't ruin your life over this."

 _Ruin... my life?_ A vision flashes before her eyes: herself, in jail, trapped in a dark cell for decades, and the look of pure disgust on Carver's face when he realizes what's happened. She can't help herself; she bursts into tears, hunching over in shame from her display of emotion.

"Alright. I- I'll tell, just please, don't... Don't tell my family."

Aveline flinches at the sudden tears, though Marian's averted gaze means it goes unnoticed. She... doesn't particularly care for the feeling have having bullied some young girl into tears, even if this could very well be the break she needs. Bartrand has brushed up against the law a few times in the last three months, but always manages to get away with apologies or a small fine at most. The guard is certain he's involved in smuggling and suspect he might be starting to branch into even worse. Given the reach and scope of his House's mercantile group, this could be a major problem for the city. And yet...

"From the look of things, you've done little wrong yet. Confess and turn evidence, and I'm sure you'll get some community service at most. You're of age, so your family wouldn't be notified unless you wish for it," she assures her as gently as she can. Which, to be honest, isn't all that much. Aveline is a good soul, but she's been made jaded and closed off by the last two years of her life and she's forgotten how to reach out. "Take a moment, then begin."

Take a moment? If she does, she'll lose her nerve. Before she can talk herself out of it, she blurts, "I was poking around in the graveyard north of the city, I found it. Please, I know it's illegal, but I needed to earn some money, for my family..."

Vallen scowls, starting to snap at the girl- young woman really- for wasting her time, but stops. Marian's expression, her bearing, her tone... Either the half-elf is an amazingly talented actress or she's telling the truth. Which means she just caught a poor refugee doing a spot of grave robbing and not the break the guard needs to crack the Tethras case.

Sighting deeply, she asks, "do you recall which tomb exactly you broke into?"

"I think it said.. Oster?"

Making a note of the name, she asks for any landmarks or distinguishing characteristics of the grave and writes down Marian's response. "How much did you get for it? And who did you sell it to?"

"I sold it to the elves at Goldengreen, for forty gold."

A few more follow-up questions gets the Elder's name and Vallen jots it all down. Setting her quill down, Vallen leans back a little to regard Marian carefully. "Do you know what the standard penalty for grave robbing and theft of a minor magical item is?"

"Uh...." She swallows and tries, "A warning for a first offense?"

"No."

Vallen lets that sit there for a moment, then continues. "Fifty gold or three months for the former and four times the value of the object or a month's incarceration per twenty gold value for the latter. So in this case, that would end up as two hundred ten gold, eleven months in prison, or a combination of both." This is all said slowly, almost gently, but at a steady and merciless pace.

Marian stares at her in abject horror, the temperature in the room starting to drop as she does. _Shit.._ she thinks, as she runs the scenarios of fighting her way out of this. If she jumps up from her chair and rushes the woman with her bare hands, she'll get slaughtered; guards tend to be taught at least the basics of hand-to-hand combat. If she jumps up, grabs the chair, but it's a heavy chair, awkward, and she'd be at a disadvantage going in. If she broke off a chair leg -- can she do that before the guardswoman beats her ass? No way. If she makes for the door, she only has to fight a whole station full of guards alerted by the shouts of the guardswoman before her. Somehow she doubts pretty lights or weird sounds are going to do much against a guardswoman in full plate armor. If only she could weaponize that weird chill she gets sometimes when she's oh she's doing it again now isn't she dammit the element of surprise is totally lost.

"Cease that at once," Vallen thunders as she rises to her feet, hand already pulling out her truncheon.

There's no better word to describe it: Marian squeaks, ducking her head and bringing up her fists protectively. The cold intensifies, as though the door had opened to let out the heat.

"Marian Hawke. Stand down at once or I will be forced to subdue you," the guardswoman demands, weapon now out and ready. A pause, a glimpse of still tear-streaked face. "Please."

"I'msorrythatjusthappenswhenIgetupsetpleasedon'thitme."

What? Wait, is she- "You can't control this, can you?" she asks carefully, her tone noticeably less hostile. "Hawke, I need you to listen to me. Focus on your breathing. Don't worry about anything else, just breath in and out. Count slowly with each breath."

_Breathe,_

The half-elf takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly. The temperature raises a few degrees with each breath until she manages to get her metaphorical arms around the icy core of her magic and wrangle it into submission. Naked. Wait that got away from her somehow. "Sorry," she says again.

"It was an accident," Vallen says after a moment of watching her to be sure Hawke is really in control again. "Is this the first time that's happened?"

Marian shakes her head. "I thought I had it under control, I guess you just... intimidated me," she concludes, with a weak smile. _Oh, that was probably the point, huh?_

"I was trying to," is the frank reply. "What you did was a crime and a serious one. But you did confess, and you've been... mostly cooperative. Add in your youth and circumstances and there's significant ground for leniency." She pauses, debating, then figures why not. "Particularly if you have any information on other criminal offenses done by others and are willing to testify about it."

She shakes her head, looking down at the desk. "I just wanted..." she begins, in a shamed whisper.

"If you return the gold, combined with having already given the source and current location of the stolen goods, I'm sure we can settle things to only few hundred hours of community service." And possibly a suit from the next of kin but hopefully not. "And... as I mentioned, if you have any more information on other criminal matters, that could also drastically reduce your sentence."

Marian winces. _Community service... that's going to make it harder to make money, but I'll try._

The guard gives her a moment or two to dwell, then prods. "Well?"

"Oh! Uh, sorry," she stammers, digging into her belt pouch. It's almost physically painful to count out the coins -- _why didn't I tell her half the amount?_ she wonders, bitter. _At least I could have paid Varric then. He's going to kill me._

Vallen reaches out to scoop the coins into a pouch emblazoned with the Nyran sigil. "And do you have any more information to offer to further reduce your sentence?" she presses directly.

"I'm sorry, I really don't." _Unless you know of any anti-mage hate crimes._ She smiles faintly as she pictures handing Carver over to the guards, then shakes her head. "Nobody I know's committed any crimes I can prove."

Aveline studies Marian closely as she replies, noting the slight twitch of her lips but dismisses it was a sign of the girl's distress. "Very well. You'll be a guest of the guard overnight while we process this and get in contact with the Oster family. Do you need to have a message sent to anyone?"

"Wait, what?!" she shrieks. _Oh shit, Mom's going to **kill** me, I **promised** I wouldn't be gone any longer than the weekend!_

"You'll have to stay over night," Aveline repeats, sounding sympathetic but unyielding. "That's as fast as it can possibly get done."

"No, no no no, there's no way-- There has to be something else I can do for you." She hesitates, then asks, in a lower voice, "or _do_ for you."

Vallen's face goes flintly. "No."

The teenager's face crumples again. _I won't beg. I'll face it like a... like a whatever I am. But this... gods no._

Aveline studies Hawke for a moment, then sighs. "I can take a message to your family if you wish. And... I suppose I don't have to be entirely accurate if you'd prefer."

Hope lights up in the depths of her eyes. "Could you say I was doing you a favor? I am, I mean, confessing and all..."

The guard's eye twitches a little. "...I suppose I could say you're giving testimony on a case regarding Goldengreen," she allows slowly, begrudgingly. "If they assume you're still there as opposed to lockup, then that's for them to do."

"Thank you so much, you have no idea how much trouble you're saving me." The words come out in a breathy rush of relief as the girl stands, submitting to the usual intake process willingly. The glow of avoiding certain doom doesn't lift until she's in her cell, hugging her knees and waiting for morning. That's when they bring in another prisoner -- one who raves and shouts at shadows, promising to make them pay, make them all pay.

She doesn't get much sleep that night, listening to the spell-cuffed mage in the other cell. She doesn't want to listen. She doesn't care what "they" did to him, whoever they are. But as the night wears on, sleep seems impossible to discover. There's no way to get comfortable on the little bench in her holding cell. There's no way to drown out the man's words. And listening to them... let's say she got an education in unlikely and showy ways to kill someone.

As dawn's early light begins to peek through the small, barred windows at the end of the corridor outside the cells, the man finally ceases his raving. Now nursing a bit of a headache, Marian pounces on the opportunity to drift off... into an uncomfortable, fragmented sleep, smushed awkwardly into a corner as she tries to find an angle that won't give her a stiff neck. She fails.

When they come to let her out, she's more than happy to go. _Probably time for work,_ she thinks to herself. Even her inner voice is more subdued now. As the night had worn on, she'd come to realize that if she hadn't tried to talk her way out of this mess, she might not be in it at all. _I'm no good at this adventuring stuff. Hell, I'm no good at any job stuff really. I hope this magic thing works out -- it might be my last shot at leaving home._

She listens, numbly, as one of the guards on shift tells her about her service and how they will track her down if she tries to get out of it, by the hair and blood they took from her during intake. It's clear she's not absorbing the details, so he presses a scroll into her hand with the information and sends her on her way. _I just have to get to the shop. Put one foot in front of the other._

One step out the door. Two. Then her eyes rest on a short, stocky figure, and suddenly running is effortless. As she slows to a stop in front of the dwarf, she tries to hide her gratitude: "You didn't have to wait for me, you know. I'm a big girl."

"Yeah, sure, but we're heading to the same place so I figured we could go together," Varric says easily. "Besides. I get lonely easily, you know that." He looks well enough, no new bruises or cuts or anything. Looks like he slept better than her as well, or at least he's better at go without sleep for one night.

His eyes drift to land on the scroll and he frowns slightly. "How're you doing, Hawke?"

She shakes her head. "They kept me overnight, and I got community service. It's no big deal. I'm good at service. It's practically my middle name." The nonchalant attitude would go better if she didn't almost cut herself off with a yawn at the end of the sentence.

Varric winces. "Held me too but... how bad was it Hawke?" he asks gently. "Really?"

She looks away, her bravado fading. "I got them to lie to my mother. So there's that. I didn't... I didn't really sleep much. I almost got a beating for using magic, but that's nothing new. Apparently I could have gotten half a year in prison." She shifts her weight uncomfortably, trying to figure out how to phrase the next bit.

"Using- gods above Hawke, what happened?" he demands, looking furious. "Did they hit you? Who interviewed you?" He sounds seriously pissed, rather... protective and ready to march back in there and start shooting or suing. Actually, both. At the same time.

"The woman -- Guardswoman Vallen, I think was her name? It's fine, I had one of my accidents again. You know how I am." She wiggles her fingers. "People start shouting, everything gets frosty. I've been working on my control, really I have, but..." She shrugs. "She didn't hit me once I explained."

"So she hit you before you did?" he presses, giving her another once over as if to find the evidence of the guard brutality he's sure she underwent. "We should swing by a healer house."

"No, she just threatened me." Marian shakes her head again. "Really, she didn't hit me." She takes a deep breath, seeing her opening but hating the fact she needs to take it. "Besides, I can't afford a healer." She looks up at the sky, watching a bird fly overhead, just to avoid looking him in the eye.

The over protective dwarf visibly calms himself down, managing to offer a laugh. "Eh, I wouldn't want my assistant to be all sore and bruised. It'd be a business expense." In a dark mutter, he adds, "this was all Bartand's fault anyway."

"Yeah..." She takes a deep breath, unsure if he understood her or not. "Varric, they took the money. All of it."

"Figured as much, given you said you just got service," he replies absently, then refocuses on her. "How many hours did they stick you with?"

"Uh... she said a hundred or so, it's all on this scroll I guess?"

He holds out his hand for the scroll, figuring she's not in the right headspace for trying to read through what is likely legalize. "You're really alright?"

"They _took_ the _money_ , Varric. This whole trip was worthless, worse than worthless. I lost out. I failed." She hands over the scroll without complaint, too busy trying to keep her emotions under control.

Varric takes the scroll but steps in close to, it must be said, rather awkwardly try and comfort Hawke with a tentative hug. "Hey, shit happens. You really think all my ventures turn out golden? I still fuck things up every now and then and I've got a hundred years on you."

"You're not trapped," she says, bitterly. "You didn't let some asshole control you. You do as you please." She pauses, then pulls back to look at him. "A whole hundred years? Serena's tits, you're old."

"Fuck you too, Hawke," he says with a relieved laugh as he lets her go. "Anyway, let's see here..." Varric opens the scroll and starts skimming it. His expression, which starts wary, turns puzzled, then surprised by the end. "Huh."

"Huh?"

"Huh," Varric confirms, careful not to smirk. Make fun of his age, will she... He's a virile dwarf still in his prime! Look at this chest hair!

She mock-slugs him in the shoulder. "Come on, don't be like that, tell me!"

He lets his smirk show then, before clearing his throat. "Not sure how you pulled this off to be honest. I know you don't have an in with the guard and you didn't bribe them so... how did you turn over two hundred gold into seventy hours of community service? Not even hard labor either- looks like gophering, paperwork and some cleaning. At the guard house, no less." He frowns then, expression turning a little awkward. "You, uh, did say you were interviewed by a 'she' right?" That doesn't eliminate the possibility but.... "Did she... ask for any... personal enticement?"

Marian clears her throat, examining the curiously detailed and ornate brickwork on the guardhouse. "No. I ah... I offered, but..."

"Hawke...." Varric says slowly, then sighs. "Live your life your way, you know I don't really care how you, uh, relax, but you're worth more than a, uh, bribe," he fumbles. Stone and shit, this is much harder than charming a merchant or even a noble. "Right then. Anyway. Maybe she's just a soft touch? Scroll says you're superviser contact is Vallen, so..."

 _You're the only one that thinks so... but I'm glad you do_ , thinks Marian, with a faint smile. "Wait, Vallen herself? huh. It must have been because I cried." _Rather too much._

"Crying can be a good tactic. Less so for a handsome dwarf but a pretty girl can get a lot of effect from a few tears," Varric agrees, allowing Hawke to pretend that he thinks she did so as a ploy. They both know better, but appearances matter. He frowns suddenly. "Are we forgetting something?"

She blinks. "Uh, I don't think so. Sell the amulet, get back safely, protect the--- Agonies, the girl! Where's the elf, uh. Merrill?"

Varric stares at Hawke. "Rockshite."

The pair stare at each other for a beat, then groan before beginning to search for their errant charge. They return to the guard post Marian was just released from, only to be told that Merrill had been let go last night. Asking around the nearby area doesn't reveal much in the way of leads but before they can decide whether to widen the search or wash their hands of the matter, a voice calls out.

"Miss Hawke. Why are you still here? Did something come up with your out processing?" Vallen asks, a look of slight concern mixed with sternness on her face. She gives Varric a hard look before turning back to Hawke. The dwarf in turn looks annoyed and.. embarrassed before pasting a look of charmed delight. Which vanishes just as fast to be replaced with surprised dismay as he notices Merrill, hands bound, standing a little behind Vallen.

"Oh! Hello again Hawke and Varrin? The city is so big! And there's so many people!"

"Merrill!" Marian's eyebrows shoot for her hairline. "What happened?"

"Patrol found her making a... house in a tree in Blossom Park," Vallen replies dryly.

"I had no idea you weren't supposed to sleep there," Mirrell says miserably. "The trees were so pretty and no-one was using them and I had some blankets in my bag so I thought 'this is perfect' but then this morning a very grumpy man threw a rock and me and I fell out. Then more men came, but these ones were in lots of metal- like miss guard here but not as much- and they scolded the grumpy man but then they told me I had to come with them and tied up my hands and then-"

"She's been charged with vagrancy. I was tasked to bring her to the post and question her now that she's been looked over by a healer," Vallen cuts in.

"Merrill, I am so sorry, I was meant to be looking after you. Here, let's get you somewhere safe-- is it alright to take her? I'm really sorry about all this. I thought Verric would be with her," Marian explains to Vallen.

Varric gives Hawke a betrayed look, but just replies, "well, I would have but my cell was male only."

Merrill offers him a smile and a nod. "Oh, that makes sense. I'm female," she explains to Vallen, who stares back.

"Thank you, miss," she says patiently, glancing back then at Hawke. "I... suppose that if she was supposed to be in your care due to her.... condition, and we were the ones that prevented you from fulfilling that duty...." Merrill looks faintly puzzled, wondering what condition she's in. Maybe she means being a newcomer to the city?

Marian nods, making a pity face. "Poor girl's in way over her head in a city like this."

Merrill cranes her head up, trying to see what's over top her.

"Yes, well... then you'll be taken responsibility for her?" Vallen surrenders, with conditions.

"Do you mean the walls?" Varric has to turn away suddenly to look at.. the side of the building. Very important.

"Y-yes," Marian stammers out, through silent laughter. "I will, at least until she's settled."

Vallen frowns a little. "Will she be able to... stay on her own?"

Coughing lightly, Varric chimes in, "we're supposed to find her a magic tutor so after that, she or he will be the one responsible for helping Dandelion here figure things out."

Merrill looks confused, then gives Varric a somewhat pitying look. "Oh, no, those are primroses," she informs him gently. The dwarf blinks, confused, then realizes the building he's been pretending to stare at had some flowers planted along the wall.

"Very well then, miss Hawke. If you'll take responsibility for her until she finds a tutor, then I can let her go with just a warning." Turning to the elf, she adds firmly, "so no more sleeping outdoors while in Nyra, do you understand?"

Merrill tilts her head, then smiles. "Not really but okay."

~*~

Marian leads Merrill back toward the office at last, prattling all the way -- on topics as disparate as "so basically, always find a roof before sleeping" and "we use what's called a toilet here" and "so this is how money works".

As they slow to a stop in front of the office, she takes a deep breath, discarding the next topic -- how to buy food -- in favor of saying, "Got it? Any questions?"

Merrill nods eagerly. "So. Many!" she exclaims. "Why can't you sleep outside? What's a restaurant? Is it really allowed to throw rocks at people here? Where do I find a steam to bathe in? I really like your eyes. What's an office? Why was that man shaking a cup with coins in it at people? How do you not get lost? How do you know miss guard lady? Is this where you live? Thank you for helping me. Are all the roads made out of these stones? Can I use a toilet right now? Where can I find a roof I can put up my tent in?" She seems to be able to go on but finally has to stop in order to breath, thank Astea. Varric, meanwhile, has taken this chance to escape into his office.

"Rain, a place to buy food, no, inside the houses, thanks, a house for work, he doesn't have any coins, we live here, you were there when we met, no, you're welcome, yes, yes, and I'll show you." Marian smiles warmly.

Merrill freezes a moment, then _beams_ at Hawke with great joy and not a little shock. That's all the warning the half-elf gets before Merrill throws herself onto MArian, wrapping her arms around the half-elf giddily.

"Eep!" she cries, staggering back a step. "What's this for then?"

"You don't hate me," Merrill almost sobs. Varric quietly closes his door. He's already got one teen-aged girl he's trying to not parent at all shut up he has paperwork to do.

"Ah, no, I don't. You're an odd du-- girl, but you're nice enough."

Merrill sniffles softly, still cuddling against the slightly older (proportionally) woman. "Thank you," she mumbles. A pause. "I do actually need the toilet though."

"Oh! Right, right, this way."


	3. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now working for Varric, Marian Hawke is learning more every day -- and somehow, she's gotten overwhelmed with work. She has to find a teacher for Merrill, handle her home life falling apart, sort through Varric's ledgers, and do community service with Aveline. And yet, she still has time to make eyes at a lovely sea wench...

If Marian wants going to get any work done, she has to work fast. Upon re-reading the scroll she'd been handed upon leaving the guard station, she finds she is to report that very afternoon for her orientation for her community service, and she has to find Merill a teacher and also explain to her about bathing... _I hope she has enough money for an inn,_ she groans, watching the elf show her pet bird -- familiar? -- around Varric's office. _The sooner she's taken care of, the better._

Somehow, she makes it through the morning -- "Chirples needs to go out for a walk" -- and the noontime hour -- "Wait, you mean this food comes from birds?!" -- and into the afternoon without major incident. Merill was a nice girl, but she was looking forward to getting away from her for a bit. So much so, in fact, that when she finds out she'll be going through paperwork in relative solitude for her service, she almost weeps with joy. The next two hours are spent in a happy daze of jotting down notes and tagging along after the guardswoman, daydreaming about the order she can impose upon this chaotic mess.

Marian doesn't talk about what happened at home that night. But neither does she show up the next morning with another blacked eye -- thankfully, the bruises phase of whatever was going on with her seems to have passed. She works a half day, then reports in for her community service hours -- which keep her a bit late as she now has to explain to Guardswoman Vallen what "all those piles" are for and how she's separated the workload. ("These are connected, you see?" "No, I rather don't see. How is this murder from two years ago connected to a robbery last week?" "Trust me, they are. You see, here, this witness?"). It's late afternoon by the time she's able to poke around for a magic tutor for Merrill. If only the girl wasn't so helpless on her own..

_I'm not sure Merrill would do well in a classroom setting,_ she muses as she heads for the bazaar. _It's bound to be expensive, but I'll let the girl figure that out the hard way._ A few greased palms in the marketplace and she finds a juicy bit of information (obtained from a Kender who wouldn't stop looking at her chest, though he claims it was just because he's short and can't see all the way up to her face): there was a retired magic teacher, one who was said to have been kind and patient in her day, living in the Meadows district, the middle-class area. The choice not to live in Scrolls -- the area most popular with mages -- oddly makes Marian feel a little safer; magic clearly isn't the only thing going on in the human woman's life after retirement. Neither does she live in what Marian thought of as "hightown": Shades and Aurora, the districts that made up the rich area of town; neither does she live in Greyrock, either, let alone Coalside. If Marian can just talk this Wynne woman into un-retiring....

Marian decides to check this place out alone before she brings Merrill to meet the woman. So, just at sunset, she makes her way to the woman's house. The house is a single-story ranch home, with a rock border around the perimeter of the property, protecting a carefully cultivated herb garden. There's hedges fencing in the back yard, with a low gate to allow one to head around back without knocking if need be; there's a cozy porch out front with a bench for company, as well. A nice, peaceful place to retire.

As she nears the front door, she can hear the murmur of conversation from around back. Taking a moment to listen, she can make out a strong, lilting but somewhat rough voice reciting something slowly but continuously. There are occasionally other voices; at least two more, one male and one female, but there might be more of each. They're speaking softer than the first voice so it's hard to make much out. Roughly a third of the time she hears one of the other voices speak, there's a whooshing or rustling noise right afterwards.

There's certainly no point knocking if they're all around back. She pushes her way through the open gate, smiling tentatively as she walks softly. She tucks a bit of hair behind her ear as she listens.

"Breathe. It all comes back to breath. Breathe in. Without breathe, you cannot speak. If you cannot speak, you cannot cast. Breathe out. If you cannot breathe, you cannot think. If you cannot think, you cannot succeed. So breathe in, then cast!"

At the word cast, three voices- all sounding very young, just at or right before puberty- call out something in a strange tongue. There's a single sound of that whooshing noise, and a pleased feminine gasp before the older voice speaks again. "Alright, ten more tries, then we're done. Remember to pace yourselves and breathe."

_Breathe... magic?_ She hesitates, torn between wanting to know more and wanting to flee. Behind her is safety; she can come another day, send a note, send Varric, not be part of this. If she runs, she can be just the broker, looking for a tutor for Merrill. She can be a refugee from one of the worst magic disasters of the decade. She can feel safe knowing the good Gods did not mean for people to have that kind of power, that it's the darker powers that have twisted them around so that magic becomes the sole provider of comfort and luxury in this world. She can grow bitter; she can grow to hate mages for taking away her Bethany, and hone her skill with a blade or a staff, and be content.

But ahead.... ahead lies a promise, and one she isn't sure she can let go of just yet.

Lost in thought, she almost doesn't hear the person moving toward her until it's too late to run. She turns, ready to face them, and sees a white-haired woman with kind pale blue eyes in a face well creased by life and laughter. She's dressed simply but smartly in a solid red set of robes and a rod on a plain leather belt. Her expression is warm but her eyes are careful and sharp as she studies Hawke. "Bit late for a visit from a stranger, miss. What brings you to my home this day?"

"I was looking for a Wynne? I was told she is a teacher of magic?" she asks. With a faint blush, she adds, "It's for a friend of mine."

_If I had a copper for every time a youth asked for something 'for a friend,'_ Wynne thinks to herself with amusement. "I'm retired, but yes, I am Wynne of Langnne, formerly a professor at the Aequitarians college in Scrolls."

"Ah! A pleasure to meet you." Marian turns on her best 'selling you a bridge' smile, straightening up. "I didn't think you'd hear if I knocked. Is this a bad time?"

Wynne cocks her head to the side, listening to the sounds of the still unseen children practicing in the backyard. "No, now is fine- for a short conversation at least. I'm simply babysitting for some of my neighbors," she explains. "It helps keep me from becoming bored in my dotage." That last is said with a clear sense of self-deprecating humor. Wynne certainly isn't young anymore and makes no effort to hide that, but she's also very fit and healthy looking for her age.

Marian nods. "I've got a friend who's a bit... special. I've been told on good authority that she's becoming dangerous with her magic, and is in need of a tutor immediately. What would it take to entice you out of retirement? If you're concerned about being bored, I could convince her to room with you. I'm sure she'd be willing to help around the house in exchange."

That gets a narrowed eyed look in response. "What do you mean 'special' and 'dangerous' exactly?" she says, her tone suddenly strict and firm, making Marian suddenly flash back to teachers in primary school.

"Special as in, she may have been a bit touched by the gods on her way to this plane," she says, with a rueful grin. "Dangerous, I'm not certain yet, but I assume in the way that all untaught mages are dangerous."

Wynne purses her lips a touch disapprovingly at Marian's last remark. "Not all mages go bad, young miss, anymore than everyone that finds a knife will. Having a good teacher is a positive thing, of course, but the lack hardly means a mage will turn to ill." She pauses, then turns her head slightly to the side. "Joan, should you be doing that?" she calls out, earning a very meaningful silence for a moment, then a guilty, 'sorry.' Wynne smiles faintly as she returns her attention to Marian. "Joan's brother has a habit of borrowing things without asking his sister and she has a habit of putting dirt or other such things down the back of his shirt in return."

Marian blinks. "You could hear her doing that from here?"

"In a fashion," she replies, smile turning a touch mysterious. "Why don't you come back with me- you can see me finish up the children's lesson. Their parents will be along soon, then we can talk more in depth."

"Ah, I can't stay long. I'd be in troub-- ashamed of myself if I were late for dinner," she admits, with a rueful smile.

Wynne considers her for a moment, making Marian feel rather exposed. "Bring your friend here for dinner, sixth bell on the dot, this next Silvaday. Dress will be casual, but fit for visiting. We shall see if we suit each other and discuss details. Understood." That didn't sound like a question?

"Yes ma'am," the elf replies, automatically.

"Good girl."

~*~

Marian explores a few other options for tutors in the intervening few days, but everyone she finds says Wynne is, hands down, the best option for Merrill. She has a reputation for taking stray birds under her wing; she has a reputation for being stern, but a reputation for being fair. And, to be honest, the inn Merrill's staying at isn't working out the best.

The real issue is that she has nothing to wear. Marian stares at her closet, wishing more outfits to appear. In the past few months she'd saved her silver and managed to put together a reasonable amount of clothing, but it's all second-hand, and much of it has small stains or tears. That's fine for going out and about, since she can throw her cloak over the top, not to mention the leather armor she's been buying piece by piece. But for dinner? She'd have to take the cloak off, and wearing the armor seems a bit hostile.

_Flies. I shouldn't have accepted. I should send Merrill by herself._ The thought of it makes her wince. Finally, with a sigh, she takes the least-stained dress she can find, resolving to buy dye on the morrow and see if she can't cover the stains that way. Throwing her cloak over the top, she heads to collect Merrill and then onward to Wynne's place.

Merrill, as has become custom even in the few days they've known each other, greets Marian with a full-body hug and a stream of babble. Of significance is the last bit, right after she finally pulls away. "Oh no! I'm so sorry Hawke, I got your dress dirty!" Without missing a bit, she places her hand directly on the side of Marian's breast and mutters something rapidly.

Marian takes a step back, holding her hands up. "Woah! Hang on, what are you doing?" She tries to hide her nervousness, but her voice squeaks a little. It turns out, it's one thing to have magic happening all around her; it's another to have magic performed potentially _on_ her.

Merrill blinks a little, then uses her still extended hand to point at Marian's tit. Err, dress. "I removed the stain?" she asks, clearly puzzled by Marian's reaction.

"You-- you did?" She looks down at her dress, spying the large stain on the front gone. "...can you do it for the other ones?" she asks, turning to examine the other spots on her dress.

Merrill considers this for a moment. "Yessss?" she finally replies, not sounding all that super certain. "I'm still not very good with that spell, I need to touch where I want to clean so..." She crosses her eyes as she tries to study the stain placement. "I could put my cheek there on your bum, then reach around to get the other two with my hands? I _should_ be able to just clean by pointing, I'm sorry, I'm not very good..." she finishes, sounding close to tears at disappointing her first, only, best friend.

Marian blinks. "Uh, no, you're alright, I'd really appreciate it."

And Smiles the Elf is back! Almost squirming, Merrill beams at Marian, then moves around behind Marian before kneeling down. "Okay, so I just..." Marian can feel Merrill's cheek being pressed against her, ah, lower cheeks, then two hands reaching around to grab her sleeve and lower stomach. "Isb that dhe right spobs?" Merrill mumbles.

_Ah. That's. Well._ "Yes," Marian squeaks, flushing considerably. She can also see a few people staring at them. Because this is happening in the open, on a public street. Hi everyone...

Merrill shifts a little, then mutters her spell incantation again. Leaning back a little, she studies Marian's rear. "And you're good!" she chirps out happily, letting Marian go. Still on her knee and staring, she adds, "you have a very nice bum."

"Thanks," she blurts out, before clearing her throat and turning around. "Let's just-- let's just go to dinner."

Merrill pops up, still beaming at Marian. "It was my pleasure!" she assures her. "It was actually kind of fun and I'm glad I could help you because you're always helping me and you're really nice. I'm so glad the Elders waited to throw me away until you arrived. I don't think most other people would have been like you..."

Content to let her talk -- it gives her a chance to clear her head, what was that about? -- Marian leads the way, adding only the occasional nod and supportive noise as they go. When they arrive, she holds up a finger until she gets Merrill's attention. "Give me a sec?" Without waiting for an answer, she knocks on the door.

"Does that mean a real second or an expression second where you actually mean a few minutes?" Merrill asks in a loud whisper.

"The expression," she clarifies. "Shush."

It takes about a minute for the door to be answered. "Right on time," Wynne says approvingly. "Thank you."

"Wynne, this is my friend, Merrill. Merrill, this is Wynne." says Marian, promptly.

Wynne smiles warmly. "It's very nice to met you, Miss Merrill. Please, both of you come in," she says kindly, stepping back to allow them entrance. Merrill scampers in after Marian does, looking around avidly.

Wynne's home is modest and comfortable. Most of the walls are covered by floor to ceiling bookshelves, the sole exception being doors and a single desk (though even that has shelves above it). They're lead through the first room to the kitchen, where there's a table big enough for four- six if they're comfortable squishing a bit or smaller than the average. At one end of the table is a massive cat lounging indolently as it snoozes. Merrill starts to reach for it but Marian, having seen this reaction before already, grabs her by the arm. Wynne gestures to the table. "Any seat but Pouncer's is fine," she informs them.

Marian sits, engaging in some light conversation -- the weather, her lovely home, Pouncer's health. Sooner rather than later, however, the conversation turns to the topic at hand: "I was entrusted with finding Merrill a magic teacher. She knows no-one else in Nyra, and is currently in shared lodgings. What would you ask for in exchange for lodging and tutoring?"

Wynne was setting plates on the table -- some kind of rice and bean dish, with a salad and seared chicken for those that want it -- so Merrill is able to cut in first.

"We're going to live together? Oh, that's wonderful!" She leans over, almost falling out of her chair, to try and hug Hawke.

"What?" croaks Marian. "No, I meant if you wanted to live with Wynne."

"With you?" she asks. Or maybe suggests? Wynne meanwhile, looks amused and fascinated, and lets this play out a bit.

"Why would I live here? I have a home." Marian, despite herself, keeps thinking logic will work on this slip of moonbeam given flesh.

"But if we're learning together..." she says, blinking in confusion. A moment later, she brightens. "Oh, could I live with you? There I mean? I can cook. And clean. And I'm learning to sew. With a needle, I mean, I have a spell for fixing tears and such, but I thought maybe I could learn to make things too, because I see all these pretty clothing but the Elders told me not to waste my gold on silly things so I figured I'd just learn to make it myself instead."

"Making your own clothes is a useful skill to have, but Merrill, I'm not trying to learn magic." _For one thing, I can't afford it._

The elf gives her an owlish look. "But why not?"

Wynne leans forward a little as she sets her fork down. "The girl has a valid point. Leaving yourself untaught is dangerous. I must admit, I've not seen your particular gift often before, and can't be sure how it would react to you trying to repress it but it seems similar enough to a sorcerer's power that I'd wager it wouldn't be well."

"My gift? It's just a bit of frost now and again, and I can make a bit of light. It's nothing serious."

"Every Sage starts with just a bit of this and a bit of that," Wynne says firmly. "You have a duty to yourself to learn about what you can do. And a duty to others to ensure what you can do won't hurt those around you."

"Granted, but I'm not looking for a tutor right now." _Another thing I have to worry about paying for..._

"And yet you found one nevertheless," Wynne replies serenely. Then, voice pointed and direct: "Eat some, you're both far too skinny." Merrill gives a soft 'meep' and shovels several forkfuls of the rice and beans into her mouth. "Chew, Merrill."

Marian eats more slowly, contemplating. _How am I going to get out of this without paying her?_ After a moment, she adds, "You didn't answer my question." If she can come off sly and shrewd, like her boss, maybe she can bluff her way out of this.

"I hardly could, given you've not given me the details I'd need. Am I housing one or two? Teaching one or two?" Wynne asks politely, sipping her glass of water.

Merrill pauses only long enough to swallow before blurting, "oh please say two and two, Hawke. I'd love it if we could be together."

Wynne shifts her glass to hide a smile, dearly amused at the clear case of puppy love on display. Doubly so as it appears neither are even really aware of it. Mostly one-sided yet, but Hawke is more receptive than she realizes. The much older woman wonders to herself if Hawke -- or Merrill for that matter -- is even aware of the attraction.

"I'm not moving. What would you ask for one and one?" Marian asks, with a scowl. Merrill sags, pouting slightly.

"That depends on the level of instruction you're seeking," Wynne finally allows. A short conversation between the elf and woman follows, ending with an agreement: Merrill will pay five gold per week, plus assist in the upkeep of the household in exchange for three hours of lessons each day save Silvaday. That done, Wynne turns back to Marian. "And you will attend at least one of those lessons each week as well. Understood?"

"I absolutely cannot," she admits. "I have no free time, unfortunately. I should have more in a few months."

"Make time. I was quite serious about you having a duty to others in regards to your gift. If needs must, I get the impression Miss Merrill won't mind having that day's lesson at an early or late hour?" Wynne suggests, glancing at the elf who nods furiously.

"I will ask my employer," she sighs. "But I can't pay you for it, not if I'm also forgoing my wage for that time. How long is a lesson?"

"Three hours--"

"Three!" Marian groans.

"And it's part of Merrill's lesson," Wynne finishes. "I've found that basic control lessons go much better with at least two and no more than five students at a time."

"I'll ask, but no promises." _Hopefully Varric has my back._

~*~

Marian spends much of the next morning in quiet contemplation, going over one of Varric's ledgers looking for evidence of embezzling. The first time he'd had her doing this task, she'd been excited, but by now she knows the drill: it's nothing but sums all morning, mindless work to keep her busy. At least she can't stew too much while her mind's running numbers nonstop.

She sighs, dramatically, as Varric brings lunch over to her desk. "Thank you. Um, I guess... There's something I have to ask you about."

"Never heard of her," Varric says promptly. "I was helping an old lady cross a street when it happened. I paid my taxes and the gold's being messengered over now."

She laughs. "It's not that. I've been asked -- ordered, rather -- to come to magic lessons once a week with Merrill. I told her I didn't think I could get the time off, but..."

"Sure, what day?" he says easily, pulling out his notebook. It's written in a code only he knows and he never writes down full thoughts so even if _that's_ broken it'll still be a puzzle, but he needs something to keep all the balls he has in the air straight. "Half day off, full day?"

She makes a face as her bluff is called. "Varric, I'm not sure this is a good idea..."

Varric sighs a little, setting his notebook down. "I'll be honest Hawke, I've been trying to figure out how to broach this topic for a while now. Hells, I'd be willing to pay for you to get lessons, personally or by the business. Having a sorcerer on the payroll is even better than a good secretary. You can make good coin casting spells for people. Or making magical items, or whatever your talent ends up being." He pauses, looking a little awkward. "And... you kinda... well, it clearly bothers you, and maybe knowing how it works'll help."

"One, I'm not a sorcerer. Two..." She sighs. "I just don't trust it, Varric. Magic already got one of my siblings killed. I don't want anything to do with it."

Varric winces. "I hadn't realized... I mean, I guessed the broad strokes, but... do you, ah, want to talk about it?"

Marian sighs. "Not really. Some days it feels like I do nothing but talk about how Bethany died." _Crap, that came out way darker than I meant it to._

_Well then. That's... hmmm. I might need to ask a friend to... make a point of hanging around Gammy's place. Have a listen, see if anything pops._ "Alright, that's fine. But sorcerer or not, whatever you are, magic is a valuable talent to have if you can use it without setting yourself on fire. Or ice, in this case. It could be what you've been trying to find this whole time."

"Trying to find?" Marian's voice rises in pitch and volume as she stares at him. "Varric, I do fine without it. What's she going to teach me that won't make my lot worse?" She sighs, running a hand through her hair as she tries to get control over herself again. "If it's important to you, I'll give it a try. But I really don't see the point."

"I meant your... money schemes. No need to go grave robbing, follow treasure maps or try and breed fairy sheep if you can rake in some serious coin with your spellcasting," he explains.

She winces. "Found out about that, did you," she mumbles. Of course he did. She could hardly expect that just because she didn't tell him he wouldn't find out.

Varric rolls his eyes. "One of my brother's more recent hires actually bought one of the fairy ewes from you. He was actually fucking proud of himself. Totally worth the loss to watch my brother try to justify his hire though. Shame the other sheep ate that lady's dress."

She laughs. "I'd have paid him to see that. But I was talking about the other thing."

Tilting his head, Varric thinks back over his earlier examples. "Oh, the last one. Yeah, it was spelled out in the scroll from the guard. With the details of your community service?"

"It was?" she asks, innocently.

"If you put half the diligence you use at work into your personal life," he mutters. "Yes, yes it was. Anyway. How much time each day do you need off for your lessons? And how much is-- how much is whoever charging you for them?"

"Three hours, once a week. It was the minimum I could get her to agree to."

"See if she'll bump it up to three times. I'll cover it if she's willing to do three gold a week or less," Varric instructs her. Before she can argue, he adds, "and assuming you're not planning on quitting on me-- right?-- then you'll still get paid for the time. Like I said, having a mage of whatever kind is an asset. Even if it's just us having more options than pray and run next time we stumble across a dross-kissing troll."

"Yeah, yeah. Bite me," she grumbles, smiling despite herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With her last hope of resistance to Wynne's orders dashed, Marian has little choice but to agree to Wynne's terms. For the next few months, that's her life: lessons with Wynne, work with Varric, and community service with Aveline. Slowly but surely, things fall into a sort of rhythm.

Until the evening when, amidst a whopper of a thunderstorm, Wynne hears a firm knock on her door. That's odd; it's well past visiting hours, but Merrill is sitting in the sitting room with her as they pour over a book of tales from exotic lands. Who could be visiting in this storm? Friend or foe, with not much in between.

A faint aura of something other fades from Wynne as she recognizes the half-elf at the door. The girl is drenched, her head bowed against the storm, and she's clinging to her cloak, holding it closed awkwardly in front of her. As she glances up, it's the look on her face that strikes Wynne the most. Her complexion, usually quite tan, has paled, and there's something like real fear in her eyes.

Wynne steps back with a curt, "what's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

"I-- I'm fine. Had an accident." She stumbles forward into the front hall, lowering her head once more. "Shut the door and I'll show you."

Wynne nudges the door closed with her foot, most of her attention on Marian. "What kind of accident?" she asks pointedly, not liking the way the young woman is moving.

The girl doesn't answer; instead, she releases the edges of her cloak, letting it fall open to reveal a blood-soaked dress. The patch seems centered on her abdomen, to the right side of her body, as if she's been stabbed or impaled or shot with an arrow, though no immediate cause of injury appears. The blood has formed a large sticky patch.

Wynne hisses softly at the sight. _How did she make it through the streets without bandaging it first? Or has it soaked through?_

Before she can act, Merrill's voice is heard just outside the entrance hall. "Oh, is that Hawke? What a lovely surprise, you're never here in the evening, Wynne was just about to read me a story about a group of sky pirates that--" The excitable elf had been almost bouncing towards them to give Hawke her customary glomp-hug in greeting but she freezes, cutting off her rambling, as she spots the blood. Her black eyes widen; her expression darkens. "Who. Hurt. You," she demands.

Wynne only hesitates a moment due to Merrill's interruption, her hand snapping up to grip Hawke's arm. A wave of healing energy rushes through Hawke, leaving a gently fierce sense of dedication and endless love behind.

"N-- gods! Nobody," she stammers out, as the feeling washes over her. Her eyes burn with tears, as she struggles to get her thoughts together. _Is that... what love is meant to feel like? This warmth, this... tenderness?_ "Nobody you know. I got in a stupid fight with a stranger. It was my own fault."

Wynne pushes Hawke's hands away from her torso. "Hawke, this was from a blade. A long one, not a knife. Someone attacked you with a sword," she says in a hard tone. Merrill lets out an growl at that, the sound a strange mix of adorable and menacing. And her eyes are glowing fields of stars.

"M-merrill! Stop!" Marian says, holding out a hand to her. "It's okay! I deserved it."

"But you- you're not- you're nice! You'd never des--" she interrupts herself, as the knitting needle in her hand sparks with a violent pop. The arc of electricity jumps to a nearby coat hook, and a scent of singed metal fills the air.

"Merrill, contain and control!" Wynne steps into action immediately.

"But Haw--"

"Is fine. I healed her."

"She was--"

"Merrill, focus on your breathing. Hawke is fine. Now control yourself." Merrill's face contorts under the flurry of strong emotions but she eventually manages to compose herself.

Marian whimpers, in a soft voice, "I did though," The sudden influx of blood, warmth, and life into her body has left her feeling raw, vulnerable; the idea of Merrill, sweet little Merrill, going to battle on her behalf has left her feeling shaken.

Wynne studies them both for a moment, then nods firmly. "Alright, Hawke follow me and we'll get you into clean clothes. Merrill, I'm sure Hawke could use something warm to drink. And perhaps a bit of that tart we made yesterday?" she continues before Merrill can object to the separation. She accedes to the task with only a single worried look; having a task that will _help_ , at least a little, is enough to settle her some.

Marian nods, trailing after Wynne to the back of the house. _There's no way I'm going to get Merrill to clean the blood off this without a fight. Shit. This was my nice dress, too, since I had lesson this morning._ She takes a deep breath, her legs feeling shaky under her. _Is this the post-battle drop I've heard of? Where you lose your nerve once the fight is over?_

Wynne herds Marian into Merrill's room, setting a cloak on the bed. "Put your clothes here, I'll find someone of Merrill's you can wear for now," she instructs Marian, then purses her lips in thought. "Perhaps just a robe for now. You should take a hot bath after you get some food and drink in you."

Marian nods, beginning to unbutton her dress without a second thought. "She'll be alright, I hope?"

"Merrill wasn't the one stabbed with what I'm fairly certain was a longsword," Wynne replies dryly, noting the size and angle of the scar. "They were aiming for your gut, too. Not a quick death, but without treatment, a sure one. You're very lucky you were able to dodge." And knew a skilled magical healer.

"It was an accident. The man was drunk, and I said something insulting. Totally just one of those life lessons." She tries to force a coy smile on her face, but it's still too pale even after her healing.

"Lie, lie, truth, and bullshit," Wynne replies. "Does anything else need healing from this... incident?"

She shakes her head, her cheeks burning. "I, uh... I wasn't expecting the blade. I should probably learn to handle one of those myself."

"It's not a bad skill to have, though the right spell can be just as useful for such things," Wynne comments, giving Marian a professional once-over. "You need to eat more. Some extra sleep wouldn't be amiss either, but otherwise you seem in good shape. Your side hurt at all?" She doubts it, she'd used a Cure Serious Wounds manifestation, which should be plenty for a mundane sword cut, but it's good to be sure.

She shakes her head again. "no, that's... that'd be a handy spell to learn, I must say."

"Healing spells are rare for arcane casters such as yourself, but there are some workarounds if you're interested," Wynne says with a smile. "Arcane casters are more about preventing wounds from happening, either by with protective wards or by stopping the attacker first."

Marian nods. "Right... can you show me some of them?"

"Some, perhaps, we need to finish giving you basic control over your gift before we can get to real spellcasting." And she needs to figure out what kind of spells Marian can use. The girl seems akin to a wizard so far -- an arcane spellcaster, needing a lengthy ritual to cast but able to hold a number of partially-cast spells in her mind at once, ready to loose with a single command word. Nothing too out of the ordinary, not for Nyra, home of the best magic schools in Aldis. "But we can start you on your first cantrip next lesson."

"I can make lights," she says, a little defensively. "I just can't do anything useful with it yet."

"You've clearly never dropped your torch in an undead-infested tomb," Wynne says dryly. "But I was thinking of trying to teach you Ray of Frost. It's a very common starter spell for wizards and sorcerers that want to specialize or even just dabble in cold spells." Marian visibly flinches at that, looking guilty. "...who was it?" Wynne asks gently.

"My sister. She died." she whispers, looking away.

"...my husband," Wynne says just as softly, a familiar feeling of endless but stagnant devotion welling up in her breast. "I used to be a simple adept. Just a few cantrips, some First Circle spells. My... my Rhys died from a fever he caught while trying to find me flowers. He'd forgotten my birthday and I was so upset he went out in a terrible autumn storm to find some buttercups. My favorites. I still can't bear to have them around the house anymore." Wynne takes a deep breath, pushing away the memories. "But you do heal. It leaves a scar, but it heals. Don't turn away from it. Don't hide, don't try to bury it. Remember them as they lived, not their deaths. Remember why you loved them and live your life."

Marian hangs her head, oddly compelled to tell the truth to this woman who seems to see past her lies anyway. "My sister died.. because of me. Because I wasn't good enough, strong enough, fast enough. Because she dabbled in things she didn't understand, and I encourage her instead of warning her away."

Wynne nudges the girl towards the bed, then sits next to her so she put an arm around the budding mage. "Tell me everything. Take your time, but get it all out," she says softly.

She shakes her head. "I can't. I honestly can't, Wynne. There's too much at stake."

Wynne makes note of that, but clarifies her current goal. "About your sister."

She shakes her head again. "It's all connected. I can't talk about it. I just... I just have to get better. So that nobody dies on my watch again." She gives a pained smile.

_Youth,_ Wynne thinks to herself. _Always so certain, so very sure they need to fight the world by themselves. That, or that the world should lay itself out before them. Pretty much always one or the other._ "They will," she says, her tone not unkind. "People die. Even the greatest spellcaster, the most devout priest can't keep a soul from Mileen's care forever. Tearing yourself apart trying doesn't help anyone. And it certainly isn't what anyone that loves you would want you doing."

Marian drops her head. "People who love me... right." she repeats, softly. _Do any of them really love me? That feeling a few minutes ago... I've never had that from Mother. And Carver stabbed me. Sure, I deserved it, but he didn't have to do it. Gamlen sees us all as nuisances. Am I that unlovable?_ She takes a deep, shuddering breath, then lets it out. _Varric. Varric might... we've never talked about it, but... he's been kind to me. Too kind. Maybe he cares for me?_

Wynne raises an eyebrow. "I know very little of your... home life, you've been rather noticeably quiet on the matter. However, I am aware of how highly Merrill thinks of you. I am also aware that I was questioned rather extensively by a certain dwarf. And several of my colleagues were questioned about my experience and background." She smiles to make it clear she isn't offended in the slightest by Varric's over-protectiveness.

Marian allows a slight smile. "Yeah... I think... I think Varric's swell," she concludes, clearly changing her mind mid-sentence.

"He did send me a nice bottle of wine, I suspect as a silent apology for the interrogation," she says with a thoughtful nod. "You're very lucky to have him."

"I am," she says with a nod. "But... he wants me to... I can tell he wants to do more about my situation, and I can't let him. Merrill either."

Wynne glances at the door, towards where Merrill can be heard in the kitchen, talking to herself. Or possibly the cat. "I think perhaps it would be best if Merrill wasn't tasked with anything... delicate for a while yet. She's a sweet girl but not entirely... well, her judgment is not always very solid," Wynne admits. "But I think that if you sat down and talked with Varric, you could guide him to a reaction you can live with. He doesn't seem the sort to simply ignore what's happening to people he cares about. And if he find out something... problematic on his own..."

Marian winces. "If I tell him something problematic..." She sighs. "I guess it probably says something that someone whose judgement I respect that much finds the situation...." She shakes her head, unwilling or unable to continue.

Wynne pats her hand comfortingly. "Unhealthy?" she suggests pointedly.

"Unhealthy's a word for it." She allows, with a sigh. "I just keep hoping the situation will resolve itself. How long can the grieving process take, really?"

"If the people involved don't get help? Refuse to honestly feel their emotions and process them? Avoid and redirect their guilt, grief and loss?" Wynne sighs. "All their life."

_All their lives..._ Marian tries to picture hearing this kind of crap for another month, another year, another decade. _If we're nearly as long-lived as our father..._ But then she tries to picture Carver just... disappearing. Mysteriously. Her throat squeezes closed, her heart aches. _No. Not acceptable._ "I can't."

"Live like that, like this for much longer? No, you can't. Survive, perhaps, but not live," Wynne says gently. She's quiet a moment, then asks, "what solutions can you see?"

"I've been working... I've been trying to save up money, to move out and get my own place." she says, hesitantly. "It would help with the worst of it."

Wynne gives her an exasperated look. "You've had several opportunities to move out already, why did you pass them up? I will allow that sharing a room with Merrill would be... taxing, in some regards, and likely to cause the loss of your chastity within a season, but you could also have asked your Varric for help. A bed, a loan, even a gift. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to help you, it's plain as the sun on midsummer's day he considers you family."

"If I move in with a mage, it'll get worse," she says, quietly. "And Varric hasn't offered. I didn't ask, but... I didn't think it'd get this bad."

"Well, it has. So tonight you can stay here, and tomorrow you'll talk to Varric," Wynne says firmly "If nothing else, I've no doubt Merrill would follow you if you tried to leave and I very much suspect that would end poorly."

She wants to argue, but... if any given night Leandra didn't expect her home, it'd be tonight, after what happened. And it'd be nice to get some rest, feeling safe away from her home life. So... she agrees, reluctantly, to give Merrill the slumber party she always wanted.

~*~

Marian's late for work the next day; she overslept, and Merrill didn't know when to wake her. When she does turn up, wearing a borrowed dress and looking sheepish, she avoids eye contact with Verric, mumbling her greetings and slipping in without

"So... you and Merrill-- how is she? Doing well I hope? Good, good." Varric asks a touch awkwardly. _Shit. How do you even bring this up? Should you? She's an adult but still so young. And Merrill is the same way. Did Wynne talk about this already? Is that enough? Fuck, he's not trained for this..._

Marian's head snaps up. "What? Did you have me followed?" _How did he know I slept at Wynne's last night?!_

Varric looks startled. "...that's Merrill's dress," he says awkwardly. "Not many ways that happens, particularly when you add in you being late and acting, uh, sheepish?"

"Oh... oh." Marian looks away, a picture starting to form. _And not that unwelcome of one..._ "No. But..." She takes a look around the office, relieved Bartrand isn't in this morning. "It wasn't like that, but I did spend the night at Wynne's place. My dress was... stained."

_Yeah, not coming up with any way that played out that isn't going to make me furious or horribly awkward and flustered,_ Varric decides. "Stained as in... need a, uh, to get a certain kind of potion when you go on lunch or... do I need to call in a favor to hide a body? Or do I need to call in two favors: first make the body a body, then have it hidden?"

The half-elf flinches, looking guilty. "No, I... nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Varric frowns as he tries to shuffle some papers around into their proper order. "Hawke... that's right up there with 'it was nothing' and 'do you search all my bags or just the big ones, Mister Customs Officer' as giant warning signs you're hiding something." Not his best work, he decides after he's done, but this isn't shaping up to be the best kind of day.

Marian flushes a bit. "I can't... Look, I wanted to ask you something."

"Questions are good, I can answer questions. Sometimes they're even good answers," Varric says quickly, happy to move off the possible topic if his-- of Hawke, ah, getting involved with, well, anyone. He at least knows Merrill, if it was her, but he also _knows Merrill_ so that's not as reassuring as it could be.

"Would it be..." she hesitates, putting her thoughts in order before speaking again. "If I were to, say, sleep on your couch from time to time..."

"I have a guest room, happy to have you over," he says starting right after the word 'couch.' He coughs. "You're not boring and you're not a slob, so as long as you don't snore so bad I can hear it down the hall, it's no big deal if you want to stay over." _Much smoother. Better, Varric, much better. Still not great, but better,_ he admits to himself.

She nods, looking at her desk. "It might be... frequently. I wouldn't want to abuse your hospitality but..."

"Can you cook?" Varric offers.

"Not really?" she admits, sheepish. "I can learn?"

"Can you not burn toast? Scramble eggs? 'cause that'd put you over me," Varric says with a wince. "I, well, let's say no-one but a dwarf could live on what I make. Well, goblins, of course, but even they'd probably ask to just eat the raw ingredients. Anyway, just, you know, help out around the place and we'll call it square."

"I can do that. I'm a hard worker, you might have noticed," she adds, sounding first earnest, then rueful, as she mocks her own earnesty.

"It's come up a time or two," he agrees, giving her a thoughtful look. "Speaking of hard work, how's your spell casting coming? Ready for trolls yet?" he asks in that causal 'asking for a reason' tone people use.

"Getting there. I'm planning to focus on defensive spells for a bit. Why? You got a troll needs killing?"

"No hard details yet, but... Bartrand has a business trip in the works that- well, it'll be big if it pans out, but it's a big 'if' right now. Still putting together a roster and we could use someone to help manage the details and such, but everyone and that means absolutely everyone going needs to be combat ready. It's... not exactly the nicest destination." He shrugs a little. "Like I said, it's still in the works, and won't more than that be for a few months more at the earliest."

She nods. "Is there money in it? Nevermind, it's Bartrand. I'm in."

Varric snickers. "I knew I hired you for a good reason," he says fondly. "But yeah, more than most. Part of the hold up is that he's pushing this as a personal venture. Which means we can't use business funds to get it going, but also means the profit goes right to us. It's going to be shares per person based on position, but if we succeed at all, even the base share will be.. hefty. Like 'get paid in diamonds not gold' hefty. **If** it gets off the ground," he repeats, seeing the look on her face. "It's still stuck in the vein, so it might not happen. Just figured I'd toss the possibility at you, let you know you might want to buckle down on getting ready for combat." He hesitates, then adds, "can't give details yet, but you might want to focus on close range."

Marian clearly stopped listening at 'diamonds'; already, she's planning how to spend her earnings, staring off into the middle distance. _A tenth share of a diamond would buy me a house, I'll bet. No renting month to month -- I'll have a place to call my own, and **they'll** have to beg **me** for lodgings. I'll finally be free -- and I'll be able to swim in silver pieces, if I want, or buy men or-- or women, I guess -- and the best tutors for Merrill. Nobody will be able to tell me what to do. I'll be a Guiding Light then..._

"Of course, there's the issue of purple squirrel people eating all the world's cabbage before we can invent enough fuster-block engines to thwart their plans for converting all the world's yogurt into mud," Varric points out in the same tone of voice he's been using. "Not to mention the plague of rock-spider eggs in your hair,"

Marian nods. "mm-hmm. Hey listen, how big a share can I expect?"

Varric stares at her for a long moment. "Depends on how good you are at fighting purple squirrel people or making fuster-block engines," he says dryly. "No idea Hawke, like I said, it's still just a giant maybe right now. Work on your combat skills and I let you know when I know more, alright?"

She nods. "Can do."

~*~

That evening, she grabs some things from her home and meets Varric at his; she doesn't take all her things, in an effort to seem like she's not running out on the family. Still, she is late getting to Varric's house. It galls her to dodge Carver like she did something wrong, but the flat is empty save Leandra when she got there, so she slips in and out without much effort.

Varric's house is, perhaps surprisingly, in Coalside. The nicer part of Coalside, true, but that doesn't say much really. It's sound enough looking, but the exterior has deteriorated from lack of care: the paint is patchy, one window is boarded over, and the grass has died. There's no wall around the house, but the windows are barred and the door is heavily reinforced.

Inside, however, the place is much nicer. Clean floors, low sturdy furniture designed for Dwarven builds, and while the walls aren't painted, they are covered in plaster. The kitchen is small and clearly doesn't get much use beyond being a place to wash your hands and keep prepared food stored. The larder contains about ten caskets of ale, beer and something labeled 'dwarf potage' that Varric warns her won't kill her but will make her beg for it. The guest bedroom is also part storage, something that makes Varric wince a little as he pushes open the door. A cot and a second-hand dresser that are suspiciously sized for a human are packed in the ten by five room with two stacks of trunks shoved in the back wall, blocking the window.

"Sorry about the cramped conditions," he says, trying to nudge one of the stacks flusher against the wall to no avail. "Sheets and all are clean," he offers, looking around.

Marian's eyes water as she puts down her bag. "Thank you, Varric, it's perfect." He even had furniture sized for her -- she had been wondering about the bed on the way there. Did he have human-sized guests often? Nevermind that now-- she has a place to hide, a place she can bunk down for the night when things get tense at home.

Varric's expression softens a little and he pats her back lightly, then clears his throat. "It's cramped and sparse but I'm glad you're okay with it," he says gruffly. "So. Figured we could go out tonight, my treat. Have any preference?"

She smiles at him, turning away from the bed back to the Dwarf. "You don't have to, really. I'm fine."

"Let me put it this way. I have booze, alcohol, a crate of military grade trail rations, and whiskey in the house," Varric admits bluntly.

Marian laughs. "Alright, when you put it that way, yes, let's go out." Impulsively, she turns and throws her arms around the dwarf. "Thank you," she says quietly in his ear.

He's a little awkward, but he hugs her back. "Hey, just... looking out for my best employee," he mumbles, his voice oddly strained with repressed emotion. "So. Gilder Goose alright? Rossy can't spell, but he's a good cook and he doesn't water down the drinks."

"Of course."

~*~

A short time later, they're seated in a booth with a little privacy in the back of the Gilder Goose. Marian's has an ale -- she's still not too good at holding her liquor, but she's drinking her ale unwatered, the Dwarven way, which is a point in her favor. They've ordered meat and potatoes, which will take a bit to cook; she seems more relaxed than she's been in months, which is such a jarring difference it makes a point out of how tense she's been getting. Something like the story of the boiling frog -- small increments make the changes less noticable. The smile she's giving him now is more real than he's seen in... a while.

Making a mental note to watch how many of those ales she has (poor humans -- elves -- and their appalling weakness to proper drink), Varric smiles at her almost softly as he watches her talk about her last lesson mishap with Merrill. "So what's your family think of Merrill?" he asks, finally deciding she's primed enough for him to start asking some important questions. She's had a half tankard of ale and some spicy fried dough already, so she should be feeling loose and comfy.

Marian coughs, and for a moment it seems like she's choking on fried dough. When she gets her voice under her control again, she manages, "you must be joking. My family? Find out about Merrill? It'd be the death of me." She flinches a little, though she tries to hide it.

"Aww, she's a bit much sure, but she's a good girl in the ways that count," he says easily. "In small doses. Still, they have to be happy you're making friends, learning new skills."

The half-elf shakes her head, putting the matter more bluntly than she means to in an effort to avoid slandering Merrill: "Because she's a mage, not because she's Merrill."

"So are you," he says idly. "That doesn't bother them, right?"

_Shit._ Marian becomes fascinated by the dartboard across the room.

"Hmmm." Varric takes a sip of his ale, expression thoughtful. "So." Another sip. "Why the _fuck_ haven't you moved out yet?"

"Uh. I ah." She clears her throat, then grabs for some ale.

"I'll have those trunks out by the end of the week," he says bluntly. "You can bring over the rest of your stuff then."

She shakes her head, lowering the tankard. "I can't, Varric. They're my family."

"So? Bartrand's my family and I sure as slag don't live with him," he counters. "Send them a few silver each week if you really have to but you can't stay with people that hate you."

"They don't hate me." The words come out almost by reflex, the defene of her family automatic. She pauses a moment to consider her next words. "Well, Carver might. But Mother and Gamlen don't hate me. It's just... it's just a trying time right now, because of Bethany."

"They shouldn't be taking their grief out on you either," he says firmly, making a note to look into her brother a bit more closely. "Look, maybe after they get their heads extracted from their posteriors, you can revisit living conditions. But for now... that, all of that, doesn't sound healthy for you at all."

She flinches. "Well, I plan to hide out at your place until it becomes healthier again."

_So move out the trunks soon, make her feel completely welcome -- maybe buy some food to keep in the house -- and then, in a few weeks, have someone steal her things and move them into her room. I can work with this._ "Hmmm. Tell you what. I'll swing by and explain that I need you to work more hours, maybe come with me on some trips and that it'd be easier of you moved in. Make sure your brother -- and your mother -- really understand where things lie."

She shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. No way am I letting you near Carver after last night."

His eyes narrow and he smirks at her. _Gotcha._ "'After last night'... now, if it wasn't a dalliance with Merrill, why else would you need to borrow a dress? From your friend that lives with a trained healer no less?" he asks very softly.

"N-no reason," she stammers, hiding her guilty expression behind a long swig of ale.

"I know you'd never be okay with him getting crippled or such, but I could have him roughed up a bit," he offers almost pleadingly. "Or turned back into his true form?"

"What form is that?" she asks, once she's done swallowing.

"An ass."

Now she laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Don't ever change."

"Why change what works so well?" he asks with as smile. "Also, I'm going to see if I can get him hired as a caravan guard to someone very far away and very hot. Preferably with a tribe with laws against drink and bathing."

"Varric!" she scolds. "He's my brother. Leave him alone."

"What? He'll be alive and getting paid, its a _nice_ thing to do for someone!"

"Alone." she scolds.

"Alright, fine. I'll be sure to send Gammy and your Mother to different places then."

She sighs, putting her tankard down. "Varric... this is why I can't tell you anything."

"I'm joking," he protests. _Mostly. Almost mostly._ "I'm not going to hurt them. Unless he hurts you again."

She winces. "You would, though. If I told the truth."

"That's... not helping with the whole restraint thing you want me to be doing," he points out. "I've already figured he hurt you, bad enough that you needed new clothing. That means it was either torn so badly or covered enough blood that cleaning it wasn't worth the effort. There's really no good way that happens." He shrugs, the motion tense and abrupt. "I'm more worried about you than getting revenge. If punishing him makes you suffer more then... fine."

Her gaze slips back to the dartboard. "It wasn't... as bad as all that. There was a lot of blood, but he only stabbed me once."

"Oh, well, if it was only the one stabbing, that's hardly something to be upset about," Varric replies flippantly, eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't! I'm fine, and it was my fault to begin with. I botched this situation big time." She sighs, prodding at one of the dough balls.

"So how badly did you hurt him? He get the healing he needed?" He asks, finishing off his second mug.

"Not much. He's fine, I'm sure it was an accident."

"So he stabbed you after you... what? How was it your fault exactly?" Varric asks, grabbing a dough knot.

She sighs. _He knows the bulk of it.. may as well lay it all bare. It's the best chance of getting him to leave them alone._

"So what happened was... well, I guess, going back.. you remember my little sister Bethany?" She struggles to find a way to explain that will lay things bare, make him see things as she sees them. "Right, well... She died partly because someone summoned a bunch of demons, and partly because... she had magic, you see. She made ice when she was nervous. Ah, when we were attacked she... she froze the demon, but she died as well, right in front of me. I.. I wasn't fast enough. I should have been protecting her and I didn't. So Carver blames me personally for his twin's death, but it's pretty clear regardless it was because of magic one way or another."

Varric considers this a moment, begrudgingly allowing that maybe that can explain a certain amount of intolerance towards magic and... wait. "You were attacked by a demon? Just you and your sister or were their, I dunno any highly skilled swordsmen or holy champions around?"

"Just us. It's not dead, she was just able to freeze it until we got away." She shudders.

"Sounds like she was a hero. Gave her life for yours," he says softly. "Can't say I know how that feels, but I can't imagine she'd be thrilled to know her family is trying to finish what that demon started."

"They don't want me dead." She takes a deep breath. "I was seen going and coming from Wynne's place. They already think I'm disrespectful because I run my mouth so much, and they think I don't miss her because I make light of the situation. To add that I'm learning magic... Carver thinks I'm chasing power, trying to become immune to what killed Bethany by being the master of it."

"I was mostly being poetic, equating 'killing' with 'ruining and suffering' but moving on." Varric gives Marian a curious look. "The whole mastering magic so it doesn't kill you... why is that a bad idea? That...actually sounds like a really great plan. I like you Hawke, so maybe I'm biased towards plans that involve you being alive but still."

She shakes her head. "I'm not going to summon demons to save my own hide!"

"Oh. That's fair, I thought you meant the ice power thing you have going on. Sounds like it's a family trait." _Oh gods, it would be simply wonderful if Carver also had magic. Probably does, come to think of it, just repressing it hard._ "Yeah, summoning evil creatures from the Beyonds is not a plan I can support pretty much ever. I mean, I'm sure there are nice demon summoners... somewhere, but I'd imagine it's a rare thing. Very rare. But yeah, nix the demons, learn how to freeze _just_ the other guy." Varric picks up a knot of dough, watching the half-elf carefully.

Marian nods. "I'm... I'm honestly working on that. I don't plan to make a living as a sorcerer or anything but knowing what I can do and how and when to do it is... probably useful, especially with the kind of work I keep taking. But Carver doesn't understand that, because I never told him. I bungled the whole situation. I kept my lessons a secret, and when he found out, he assumed the worst. It came to a shouting match and... well, shouting matches between us have always ended in blows, that's just how we fight. But I miscalculated. He's been learning swordplay while I've been dallying about with magic, and he was mad enough to try to kill me. I think Mother got through to him after I left. She told me this afternoon she was glad to see I'd survived, which is the closest thing to an 'I love you' I can expect."

Varric carefully sets down his crushed dough knot and reaches for a towel to wipe the grease off his hand. "Hawke, you're not going back there alone. I'll be honest. Your brother should be arrested. He _stabbed_ you with a _sword_. That's attempted murder, a serious crime. Attempted kinslaying on top of it." He sighs a little, trying to think. "Alright, I think you, Wynne and I need to go have a talk with your family. An actual talk," he says quickly. "They need to understand and I don't think they're really hear what you say instead of what they think you're saying."

"Don't," she says, quietly. "I'll lay low for a week or so, let things blow over. Then I'll talk to him again, once he's had time to reconsider. I'll get him to understand magic's not all bad."

"And if he stabs some other mage because they talked back to him or just said the wrong thing? Hawke, if he's wiling to stab his own flesh and blood..." He shakes his head.

"He doesn't act this way around other people. I just piss him off that badly. You're always talking shit about Bartrand, after all. It's the same thing. Family are the people who hurt you most."

"Bartrand's never _shot_ me," Varric says firmly. "If he had, one of us would be dead or in jail, I promise that. Bartrand..." He sighs a little. "He's not real family. He's a relative. You're more family to me than he is," he adds, studying his hands intently. To make sure he's gotten all the fried dough and grease off, of course.

It's a shame -- he misses the shy, touched smile Marian flashes him. "I hope not. You could _destroy_ me if you wanted to. You know all my secrets."

"Well, I'm just awesome like that," he says airly. "Skilled, brilliant, cunning and roguishly charming. Great with a crossbow and just as good with a quill." Though I doubt I know _all_ your secrets, even now. "So. We'll give it a few days to cool, then have that talk. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Did someone say, great with a crossbow?" Their server returns, swaying her hips as she brings food over. The girl is pretty enough: human (or Merikos), dark-skinned, with wide hips and a coy smile. She wears a blue bandanna that offsets her dark skin and hair nicely, and her dark blue eyes really stand out thanks to judiciously applied eyeliner. Clearly a career waitress, angling for better tips.

Varric reaches over to pat Bianca, sitting next to him on the bench, rather fondly. "Ol' girl has stood with me in more than a few dangerous spots," he allows, his posture and expression shifting to his normal 'charming merchant with a roguish slant'.

"She's lucky to have you," says the waitress, tilting her head slightly. "These are rough times. You can't have too much protection."

"Not as lucky as I am to have her," Varric says rather seriously, giving Bianca's stock a fond pat before turning his attention to his food. "Oh, could we get a carafe of some kind of juice to go with our refills?" he asks, eyes flicking to the young woman across from him.

The woman laughs. "Of course, sweetie. Coming right up." And away she goes, swaying her hips like she knows someone's watching. And someone _is_ watching. For some strange reason, Marian can't take her eyes off that lovely, perfect behind.

"Nine out of ten I'd say. Too high off the ground for the full ten in my books," the dwarf comments. "What'a you think?"

"Huh?" Marian shakes her head, snapping out of it. "Sorry, did you say something?"

Varric smirks a little. "I'll rephrase. Given the bit of drool you got going on there, do I need to give the Ingot and Mold Talk, Molds Only edition?"

Marian blushes. "Sorry. It's just... she's really attractive."

She turns her gaze over to the waitress again, just in time to see a man -- too short to be human, but too tall to be a proper Dwarf -- pushing her up against a wall. He grabs the front of her shirt, pulling her down to his level to hiss something in her face before letting her go again. Varric's eyes narrow and he glances at Hawke. "Try and stay left of him," he says mildly. "I'll cover you if you need it." Probably just an overly familiar customer who needs a quick smack and maybe some blustering. Let Hawke get some easy seasoning and be the hero to the pretty waitress.

Marian nods. "Got it." And she gets up, rolling up her sleeves as she walks over to the scene. "Hey, guys, what's going on over here?"

~*~

Thankfully, she doesn't get punched in the face. The ensuing fight is rough, but she's fast enough to avoid the worst of the blows. The waitress, it seems, is handy with knives -- and also, for some reason, had knives on her person. Between the two of them, they send the man and his buddies packing without too much trouble.

"Thanks," says the woman, looking Marian up and down as they linger nearby.

"Uh, no problem," she stammers out in reply.

"You're cute, I like you." Marian blushes hotly at that, but manages to stumble her way through gratitude. "Name's Isabela."

"Marian Hawke."

"Nice to meet you, Marian."

Something about the way she looks at Hawke reminds Varric rather much of a wolf contemplating a chicken. "Not bad Hawke," Varric calls out before Marian can start stammering or somehow trip over something. He glances at Isabela and adds, "Deft hands there. Rather quick with those daggers." As he talks, he's setting Bianca back in place next to him.

"I've rather a lot of practice," she says, slipping them back into their hiding spots. "I could use a favor, though, if the pair of you are interested in earning a little gold."

"Ye--"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Varric says quickly, cutting off Hawke. "Details first, then maybe you can agree to help the pair of pretty eyes offering gold," he says firmly. "What don't you have a seat and explain a bit more," he invites Isabela.

Isabela grabs a chair, turning it backwards as she leans over the back of it. "It's really no big deal. I've got a duel coming up, just a little point of honor thing, but I'm worried the guy won't play fair. It'd be nice to have some backup. If he duels me, you stand around looking imposing and get paid for the trouble. If he tries to pull something, you help me get out of the fire."

_Okay, more legitimate than I'd honestly expected. On the surface anyway._ "What's the duel over and with who?"

"Bad blood. We used to work together, but he never liked me." She shrugs. "Man by the name of Hayder."

_Doesn't ping for anything,_ Varric concludes after a moment's thought, glancing at Hawke to see what she's thinking.

Marian nods. "That seems simple enough. What's the pay?"

"Two silver each, with an eight silver hazard pay if you have to get in a fight."

_For a night's work?_ Varric wonders. _That's not 'retire' money by any means, but it's pretty good. Almost too good, especially,_ "Waitressing must pay better than I thought if you can spring for half to two gold."

Isabela smiles. "What can I say, I live frugally."

Varric snorts, clearly not buying it. "Up to Hawke. Well, when's this duel? It's up to you unless I have plans, then it's up to me."

~*~

The duel turns out to be two days later. It also turns out to be not so much a duel as an ambush. "Hazard pay!" Marian crows as they get into the fray, knocking heads about and handily beating back the would-be muggers. Well. Varric and Isabela handily defeat them. Marian gets knocked down and takes several vicious kicks to the ribcage before she's rescued by a round from Bianca.

"Tomorrow," she promises, wiping the blood from her split lip. "I will ask Aveline about sword practice first thing tomorrow."

Reaching slightly down to help her up, Varric sighs a little. "Nice cast for the ice beam, but yes, you really need a close range option," he agrees. "Also, your battle cry could use some work."

Marian gives a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I got carried away."

Isabela kneels, searching the bodies one by one until she finds what she's looking for: a handwritten note. "Jackpot. Hayden's holed up in the local Church of Mileen. Let's go settle this before it gets any further out of hand."

"Hey now, we were hired in for safety during a duel. That's done now," Varric says easily, clearly making no moves towards leaving. "I'm thinking... three-quarters of any loot should get our help for the rest of the eve."

"Highway robbery. Fifty percent for you two to split however." Isabela's tone is breezy and casual, like this is no big deal to her.

"Nope. A share each for us, and then the split of an extra share because you're restoring your honor or whatever by offing this Hayden fellow," Varric counters, nudging Hawke to start with the looting. Best get her over any squeamishness about frisking dead people now. Marian kneels, checking for coin pouches without too much complaint. The girl can be sentimental, but she also can be ruthlessly practical when it suits her -- mostly, when there's coin involved.

Isabela shakes her head. "One share apiece, it's the best I can do. A girl's gotta eat, after all."

Varric purses his lips, then agrees. Mostly. "Alright, but we get first dibs on anything not coins for our shares."

"Deal."

~*~

Hayder lowers a two-handed greatsword at Isabela, his goons moving to flank the small group. "Where's the relic, Isabela."

Isabela smiles, batting her eyes at him. "I don't know what you're--"

"Can it. Castillon's not going to be happy with you."

"Castillon can go hang." She shrugs.

"One last time: where's the relic. You tell us, and this all goes away nice and quiet."

"Somehow I doubt that, but it's pointless anyway -- I lost it."

_Uh oh,_ mouths Marian, glancing at Varric.

"I thought you had it in your ba- oh shit, sorry 'bela" Varric says, his tone sounding chagrined. And as soon as people glance at Isabela, he fires an explosive bolt at the greatest number of goons.

~*~

This fight is harder than the previous one; Hayden really knows how to use that greatsword, and while his goons are pretty run of the mill, there's a good deal of them and Marian can only pull off that Ray of Frost so many times before she hits mental exhaustion. Still, they manage to scrape through, pocketing a decent sum of coin and a nice dagger that makes Isabela's eyes light up to spy on Hayden's belt.

Once the haggling over how much of a share the dagger's worth concludes, Isabela dusts off her hands and offers one to Varric. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Wasn't a bad night," Varric concedes. Almost fifteen gold for he and Hawke each. Hells of a lot more than most people can make in a month, but then again, they did have to kill some twenty odd people for it so... "Curious about that relic, Hayden mentioned before the -- please don't cut your own leg off Hawke!"

"Sorry!" says Marian, dropping Hayden's sword again.

Varric winces at the harsh clanging of metal on stone, giving Isabela a pointed look as he waits for his answer.

Isabela laughs at the girl's antics, breezing past the question. "It's nothing. Castillon's got a debt I don't owe hanging over my head, and that relic was my supposed last chance. I figure I'll have to find a way to kill him sooner or later."

"Well, best of luck with that... You about done with looting, Hawke?" Varric asks, letting go of Isabela's hand. "Make sure you grab the greatsword, bit of polish and some honing and you could sell it for a gold or two."

"How does he have a debt you don't owe?" Marian asks, looking for the sheath for the dang sword.

"Probably a dispute over services rendered," Varric guesses. "She was hired to do a thing but didn't for reasons and he either expects a forfeit for wasting his time or he paid her upfront. Or she hired him, he did the job but for some reason she thinks he doesn't deserve to be paid. That's usually how that sort of thing happens."

"In this case, it was lost cargo he can't admit to having legally," Isabela elaborates.

"So you do owe him but you're ducking it under the cover of him not being able to call you on, at least not openly," Varric sums up. Eh, not his cargo and he doesn't know this Castillion so the fuck does he care?

"I rather maintain I don't owe him for slaves that happened to, you know, escape." She tosses her hair. "Should have taken out insurance."

"Okay, slaves aren't _cargo_ but agreed on fuck him," Varric says, giving her a hard look. "Also not entirely happy to have worked even for a one-off job for a slaver."

Isabela holds up her hands in a placating gesture. "He didn't tell me it was slaves I'd be transporting. I found out, and I showed up here with strangely empty wagons."

Varric studies her for a moment, then nods. "Good on you then," he apologizes. "Well, it's getting late and I think we've mostly picked this place clean." He glances at Hawke to see what she's up to.

Marian nods. "Let me know if we can help with the whole revenge-against-slavers thing. For a price, of course."

Varric closes his mouth after Hawke added that last bit. He was worried for a moment she was going to be all heroically stupid. Or hormonally. "Right, well, best of you luck to you and see you at the Goose if you're still around," he says, heading for the exit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marian really meant to talk to Aveline days ago. It's just... they've fallen into a routine now, where she shows up, Aveline gives her a rundown of what's changed, and she goes back to organizing and sorting decades of neglected paperwork. It was comfortable working together in a companionable quiet, occasionally making conversation but never delving into anything deep. She'd managed not to show up looking like she'd been hit in the face or stabbed before, so there'd never been any reason for the woman to pry into her personal life.

That just makes it harder to say something now. She'd stopped by Wynne's place in the morning, this time happily explaining the situation that led her to need healing, so she was moving better than she had been when she got up. _Maybe I should have left it. Then I'd have a conversational opening._

Sighing, she puts down her papers and clears her throat. "I was wondering..."

"How can I be of assistance, miss?," Aveline replies automatically, then blinks. Oh, she's not on patrol and... She clears her throat. "Yes Hawke?" She'd had some misgivings at the start of all this, worried that the girl -- young woman -- would be more work than help. Or that she'd try to spy out confidential material to either sell for herself or to pass on the Tethras brothers. Sweet Light, she'd been half afraid Hawke would keep up her awkward (yet charming) flirtations.

Instead, she'd found herself with an assistant in truth, one that's surprising intuitive about noticing patterns and even more surprisingly patient about processing paperwork instead of just shuffling it around. Her very first week, Marian had noticed that, due to how reconstruction after a fire had changed the road-layout, there was a two-block gap in the outer-east Coalside patrol routes. One that had been there for months and had also been noticed well before by a small gang who'd gleefully used that gap to hide their den in. Simple pickpockets, true, but they could have been much darker in nature. And Hawke had been rather professional in most regards. Warmer, perhaps, more personal certainly, than is the norm, but well within propriety and civil guidelines. Somehow, her probation ward has become more of a friend than anyone else she can really name after... at present. So while she speaks with crisp precision and straightforward professionalism, her eyes are more open and warm than they would be if it was anyone else trying to hesitantly start a conversation.

"Could you, maybe... instead of doing this paperwork, could I learn how to use a sword? For self-defense, of course."

Aveline pauses, then slowly sets down the scroll detailing an out-town patrol she'd been reading. "Hawke..." she says in warning, her tone clearly saying 'I know you're up to something so just come clean.'

She puts her hands up, trying to protest her innocence. "No, I mean it -- self defense only. I was attacked the other day -- long story -- and it drove home how easily I could end up, ah, incapacitated if I piss off the wrong person."

"By who?" Aveline demands, eyes hard. "Where and when? How badly where you hurt?" She's half risen from her seat, hand splayed on the desk.

"I'm fine! I promise, the situation's been handled. I've seen a healer and everything. I'm just looking forward to the next one." It's oddly touching that this near-stranger she's working for is concerned about her wellbeing, but Marian's a little tired of everyone trying to rescue her from her own family.

"Clearly not, or I would have had the report on my desk the next day," the guard officer snaps at her. "I have you and your family flagged so all reports mentioning you come to me."

"You _what_?! Hang on a minute, why are you stalking me?"

Aveline lifts her head, a look of certainty and stoic professionalism firmly in place. "You're one of mine now, Hawke," she explains, gesturing at the office they work in, "and I look after my own. That includes your family." Which she's expanded to include that strange Merrill girl a few weeks back, after catching wind that she'd been picked up for washing her clothes in Blossom park.

"Okay, no, we need to have a talk now." Marian puts down the papers she'd been clutching as a bit of a screen and glares up at Aveline. "I can take care of myself. So can my family. The last thing we need is guards poking around in family business. We're already refugees, struggling to keep enough money together. If you were to intervene where you weren't wanted, we'd only be worse off. I didn't file a report about the attack because I didn't want the guard to know."

"I'm not the guard, I'm your fri-" Aveline cuts herself off, glaring down at her desk. "I'm not... poking around. I simply made it known that I'd prefer to handle anything that comes up involving your family," she says carefully.

Marian looks away, shoulders slumping. "What have you heard?"

Aveline frowns, studying Hawke. She... hadn't expected the younger woman to suddenly cave like that. "I... nothing... significant," she says slowly, now thinking maybe she _should_ be poking around. "Your Uncle was warned, again, for being drunk in public a few nights ago. And your... friend, Merrill, was brought in for washing her clothes in a stream at Blossom Park. That's all I've gotten officially".

"Gamlen? You're worried about Gamlen?" She seems surprised, and a little relieved. "Oh. Well, that's alright then."

Aveline gives her a bland look, then sighs. "Hawke?" She waits a beat to get some form of acknowledgement, then adds, "don't ever try to gamble. You can maybe bet, but nothing you have to bluff for."

She flushes. "Varric keeps telling me that, yeah. Uh, about swords?"

Aveline sighs. "If... if you promise to come to me, if things... if you get in over your head, come to me before you... do anything too rash, okay? Can you at least promise me that?"

She nods. "Sure. I won't get in over my head without backup and die."

"Not... exactly what I asked, but it'll do," she says with a faint smile. "Thank you Hawke. Alright. What kind of sword do you use?"

"I've never used one, so..."

"Of course you haven't," she says with a wry tone. "Alright, we'll start you with a basic longsword and see how that goes, I suppose. We can spare an hour after dinner each day. And maybe squeeze a little time there as well, if we make a point of eating fast."

Marian nods, already daydreaming of becoming a swashbuckling swordfighting champion, and all the gold she'll earn out adventuring.

~*~

Of course, life is never that simple. Over the course of the next few days, she learns two things. The first is how incredibly tiring and painful it is to learn swordplay; muscles she's never used so strenuously complain for days on end while she struggles to wave around heavy chunks of metal in just the right way to be of use. _Astea's Grace, how did Carver ever put up with this?_

The other thing is that she's awful with sharp objects. As Aveline puts it, "you're the worst recruit I've seen yet. Haven't you learned anything?" In Aveline's defense, she was trying to grab the sharp end of the sword; in Marian's, she was "bloody exhausted".

Aveline lunges to the side, just barely in time to stop Hawke's disarmed blade from hitting Varric in the face. Varric stares at the back of Aveline's hastily interposed shield and swallows a little. "...did I leave the toilet seat up or something Hawke? Because whatever I did, I'm really sorry about it."

"No, that's my fault- I shouldn't have tried to take advantage of her being distracted by your arrival," Aveline says with a sigh. "Maybe... they're not something I'm particularly fond of but perhaps we should have you try an axe instead," she offers weakly to Hawke.

Marian stares at Aveline in disbelief. "Hang on, aren't those heavier?"

Aveline frowns. "...yes, well, there's less... finesse involved with an axe so..." She slows to a stop, looking at Hawke almost grumpily.

"Ah, maybe a nice dagger?" Varric suggests, getting a snort from the guard.

"Might as well just punch someone," she says dismissively. "No, she just has to keep at it, build up her muscles."

"What muscles," Marian mutters, under her breath. With a sigh, she hefts the sword once again. "Any idea how long it'll take?"

"To be competent? About a year. To be... more effective against your foe than yourself, perhaps another month. Maybe two," she corrects herself. "No more than three." Varric winces, giving her a slight headshake behind Aveline.

_More than three months?!_ Marian stifles a groan. _Great. Just great. I shouldn't even bother at this rate._

_The smell of burning tallow. The look of betrayal in those dark eyes. The searing pain in her side. The drenching rain._

"That doesn't sound too bad," says Marian, forcing a grin onto her face. It won't fool Varric, but it's habit by now. _Time to learn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Due to a combination of lowering Hawke's age at the start and removing Malcolm from her life as a consistent figure, Marian was in need of magic lessons. Kae asked me who I'd want to teach her, and, after considering the mages in DAII, I remarked half-jokingly, "I miss Wynne."
> 
> "Well, we could just use Wynne?" 
> 
> So we did :D Also, we're aware that Rhys was her son's name in canon, but her lover didn't have a name, and we didn't want to give her a son. We had hopes she'd integrate better with the cast, but in the end, she's mostly a recurring cameo; her plot is done, she's retired, and honestly, she's so stable and wise that it's hard to have plot around her without her solving it.


	4. Bait and Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian continues on her quest to find real friends. But when her family seems bound and determined to get in the way, she has to deal with them once and for all. Content note: abuse.

"Hey, sheep-girl."

Marian winces, slowing her path through the Bazaar. _Why do they keep calling me that? It was **one** time I sold sheep, one!_ "Yes?"

"I heard you're good at finding things."

 _Now that's more like it._ "For the right price."

~*~

"I got us a job!" Marian crows, heading into Varric's office.

Varric jumps, having been in the middle of trying to add up a column of figures in his head because his abacus is on the other side of his desk and that's far enough he'd have to get up and that'd be annoying and _why does she always just burst into the room shouting?_ Glaring at her, he says in a flat voice, "Sound the horns of celebration. Hazzah, hazzah."

"Shut up, it pays well. Ten gold each for some stolen property retrieval." She grins at him. Varric makes a 'go on' gesture, his expression dubious. But he's already starting to put his papers away. "There's a shack down in Coalside where the guys are storing the property before fencing it. Show up, get the box, bring it back to the contact. Easiest gold I've ever made."

"And you are, of course, certain that your contact actually _owns_ said property? Because I'm not looking to make a name as a dumb muscle thief," Varric probes, checking to make sure his new, enchanted fingerless glove is snug around his wrist. The new, tighter checks on peace-bonded weapons has prompted him to be a little more... innovative in making sure Bianca is always at hand. He smirks internally, making a note to use that one on Hawke sometime soon.

"He says the place is abandoned. Who puts valuables in an abandoned spot unless they're trying to hide stolen property? No brainer." She grins.

"Someone trying to avoid housing fees? Or maybe the contact was lying about it being abandoned," Varric points out easily, coming out from behind his desk. "But let's go see. Maybe it really is easy coin," he says in an almost whimsical tone.

~*~

Of course it doesn't turn out to be easy coin. It's never easy coin.

What it is is taking down two guards and an angry warhound hiding inside a clearly abandoned shack, then having to turn the place upside-down, as the place seems to be full of empty boxes some shipping company just abandoned there. They go through the place room by room; Hawke finds the cargo first, an eloquent elven cuss dropping from her lips as she opens a closet.

From just outside the room, Varric is finishing up looting the two guards. A double handful of copper, shitty weapons, some shitty food and a silver ring. Joy. And... "Hawke, why am I finding a pair of manacles on the greasier guard?"

Marian steps aside, letting Varric see what she sees: a bound, nearly-naked male humanoid with pointed ears, light grey skin, and white hair. _Joy._ The man's ears mark him as somewhat elven, although the point is blunted enough that he's more likely half-elven to her practice gaze. Elves, however, don't typically come in dark grey or black colors -- at least, not surface elves, anyway. There are stories -- there are always stories -- about elves in the Underdark, the deepest caverns far below the levels where Dwarves make their homes, that have become corrupted and cruel due to lack of sunlight and nature. They're probably exaggerations; stories like that almost always are. But finding a dusky elf here in chains is... not promising.

The elf is covered in light blue tattoos that glow faintly in the dark; it doesn't take much to tell that they're magic of some kind, careful rune shapes etched into merlot skin. He's been beaten, dried blood crusting on the side of what must have been a beautiful, angular face. He's clearly not conscious, and his back shows signs of recent damage from a whip or a thin blade.

Marian studies Varric, fear in her eyes. "I think he's dead," she whispers. "What do we do?" _We're going to get caught up in this, they're going to think I killed him in a demonic sacrifice, we're going to be arrested..._

"Run as fast as you can to Wynne's, get Dandelion," Varric snaps at her briskly. Merrill isn't as good as Wynne, but the older human couldn't run the whole way back without needing healing for herself. "Make sure no-one notices when you get back here!" he adds, quickly moving over to the elf. _Dross and slag. Those are clearly magical markings and the elf needs healing right damn quick._ He furrows his brow as he studies them.

Marian doesn't question; she runs, lifting her skirts. _I have got to start wearing trousers._ When she reaches Wynne's, she doesn't bother to knock; she throws open the door, stumbles into the sitting room, and blurts out "someone's in trouble, come quick."

Merrill pops out of the kitchen wearing an apron and covered with flour. "What? Hawke, what's wrong? Who's hurt, is it Varric?" she babbles even as she scurries for the door. She doesn't bother grabbing her morning star, just her cloak.

"Weapon," Marian calls out as she gulps for air.

"I have my sling and my hexes," Merill says easily.

Marian lifts her head, takes another deep breath, and begins making her way back. _Talking isn't happening right now, and there's no way I won't feel this tomorrow, but if Varric called for a healer, that man isn't dead._ As she paces, she can't help but picture the man's wounds again, the blood crusting on his skin, the flies buzzing around his body.

Merrill easily keeps up with Hawke. Not that she's so much more athletic, just still fresh. By the time they get back to the shack, even with having slowed down to be at least a little discreet in their final approach, they're both breathing heavily.

Entering the shack, they quickly locate Varric. He'd procured clean water from somewhere and has cleaned off most of the wounds, as well as covering the elf with cloaks taken off the two guards. Even has a fire going nearby. Marian bends over, resting her hands on her knees as she tries to get her breath back. _Definitely need to be in better shape._

"I'll... keep watch..." she pants, tilting her head toward the door.

Merrill takes only a moment to catch her own breath before hurrying over to Varric and the patient. She looks him over quickly, biting at her lip. "I- he's not as bad as it looks but those markings, I think-"

"Nothing to worry about right now, they won't interfere with healing him," Varric cuts in. He's not entirely sure what the second set, on his arms and legs, does, but he does know neither Sin Rune tattoo will impact him being healed. The tattoos were a rare form of magic, but not unheard of; they enacted various magical effects, often being activated by a command word. They might pose a threat when the man was awake, but they weren't going to hurt him.

Nodding quickly, Merrill gently touches the half-elf's shoulder as she mutters her best healing spell. As the healing takes effect, the man stiffens, then quickly relaxes as if to pretend to still be unconscious.

Marian stands at the door, praying the guard won't come by and interfere. Whatever this is -- kidnapping? attempted murder? -- she doesn't want any part of it. "What do we do with him?" she asks, quietly, from her post.

Varric is quiet a moment. "Well, first I figure we should find out who is he. Then... we either wash our hands or dump him on your Lady Guard," he says slowly, watching the elf, who stiffens at the word 'guard.'

Merrill leans back to sit on her heels. "I think he's okay but wow that was kind of scary he was really hurt and he's all tied up and covered in blood. But you didn't let him go so maybe you tied him up but Varric just shots people and I don't think Varric would let you try and fight with a whip because you'd lose an eye or something so I'm not sure how happy I am that I think he'll be just fine."

The elf lets out a low, appreciative whistle at that fine breathing control and lung capacity, then winces unseen. Bravo. "...zzzzzz," he tries half-heartedly, not expecting any real success but game to the last drop.

"I think he's tired," Merrill whispers.

"We know you're awake," says Marian, tiredly. "You might as well make your case for why we shouldn't bring you to the guard." Please don't let him be a demon summoner or a child molester or something...

"I'm far too handsome to be wasted on the likes of a town guardsmen," the elf protests easily, sitting upright. Wait, wasn't he tied up? And in his defense, if you look past the grime and blood, he is damn pretty. Sharp, even facial features with wide blue eyes, silky white hair and a crooked grin

"Not my type so no loss on my books," Varric says flatly.

The elf sighs a little, giving Varric a once over. "Truly you are a cruel, cruel man to keep such a fine chest of hair from my touch," he laments, slowly looking around at the other two. Merrill is staring back at him, eyes wide, as if watching a particularly interesting but perplexing street performance. "Indeed, my luck has clearly turned sweet, to end up in the tender care of not one, but three beauties!"

Marian snorts. "Now you're reaching. What's your name and how did you get here?"

"Oh, but I speak only the truth of my heart!" the elf protests. "Your vivid eyes, your dashing smirk. Such deft and clever hands, my skin aches for their touch. Long trim legs that lead a man towards-" He cuts off with a yelp.

"Sorry. Finger slipped," Varric says blandly, moving Bianca's business end away.

Their possibly-prisoner coughs lightly, staring at the bolt embedded between his thighs. "Zevran of no-where in particular at your service and in your debt it seems."

Marian feels the heat rising to her cheeks and resolves to ignore it. A grown man finding her attractive... that hadn't happened before. She flirted, sure, but... rarely did they flirt back. "Hello, Zervan of nowhere in particular. How did you end up in this closet?"

Zevran carefully prods the bolt before replying, "in the short term? I may have seduced the daughter of my previous master. And his wife. And son. And possibly mother, head steward, mistress and brother-in-law." He smiles disarmingly. "In my defense, he had very poor bathing habits and I am so very pretty."

Varric continues to look unimpressed while Merrill just stares. He is rather pretty...

"So they tied you up and beat you and left you here to die?" Marian sounds outraged, real anger coming into her voice. A moment later, the bolt clicks into place in her mind. "Wait, master? Are you an apprentice?"

"Not unless the slang here in... wherever we are,"

"Nyra!" chirps Merrill.

"Thank you, my lovely emerald eyed angel of mercy, Unless the slang here in Nyra is much different than I'm used to, then no, you would not call me anyone apprentice," he says far too cheerfully.

"His wrists," Varric points out gruffly, gesturing at the welts, many of them long healed, others clearly fresh, on his wrists.

Marian's expression fades into one of pity. "A slave, then."

"I prefer to think of it as enforced labour and boringly non-sexual objectification," Zevran says lightly. "But I suppose your term is regrettably accurate."

"If you did do all of what you said, then why didn't your previous master just have you killed?" Varric asks suspiciously.

Zevran looks aghast. "Even one as foul and smelly as he couldn't bare to remove such beauty as myself from the world!"

Merrill giggles softly, then leans in towards Hawke. "I like him, he's very funny," she confesses softly.

Rolling his eyes, Varric just nudges Bianca back a inch towards Zevran. "And he might have been trying to recoup his expenses. "I'm not just a ridiculously handsome and sublimely skilled lover after all. Why, I have many talents and even more skills."

Marian groans. "I cannot-- I _cannot_ be involved with slavers. How many people am I going to have to kill to keep this quiet, Varric?" She seems to be lighthearted, but not joking.

"..." Varric considers this a moment, then shrugs. "None. You caught wind of a slaver group befouling our fair _free_ city and gathered up a few friends to explain to them what on views on such things are in Nyra. Even saved the life of a poor soul bond in captivity," he adds, giving Zevran a pointed look. "Not like we were planning on keeping him."

The elf smiles disarmingly. "While I wouldn't necessarily mind being tied up by the lovely Hawke, having my freedom once again is rather nice. I would be overjoyed to assure anyone and everyone that asks that you three are devout advocates for personal freedom." He pauses a moment, then glances down at himself. "Before we talk much more, would it be possible to point me in the direction of somewhere I can bathe?"

"Oh! I can help you there," Merrill says happily. "I have a bath. Well, Mistress Wynne -- that's the teacher sort of Mistress, not the nasty slaver sort -- has a bath but you could use it because I'm allowed to use so I can let you use it instead of me using it."

The newly freed slave stares a moment, then asks carefully, "I'm... usually pretty good at this, but perhaps I'm more injured than I realized. Was that an offer for sex or..? Because if so, then it would be my -- and your -- pleasure. Repeatedly so."

Merrill flushes red, starting at him wide-eyed. She eeps softly, blushes more, gives Hawke a side-ways look, blushes dangerously red, eeps again and stares at the floor.

Hawke raises a hand. "Would it be creepy if I took him up on that?"

"To me, yes!" Varric says loudly, looking rather mortified. "I really don't need to hear about that, Hawke."

Zevran, on the other hand, looks rather pleased. And Merrill eeps again, her expression... conflicted.

"Okay. Here's what we're going to do. None of you were here. Nobody knows anything about an escaped slave. I'll take care of the guy who gave me this job, and the guys that were here are already taken care of. We're taking Zevran to Wynne for a thorough examination and a bath and a rest. Then tomorrow we'll talk about any potential sex acts that might or might not occur between two or more of us. Agreed?"

"...give me the name and description of your contact, I'll chase him down why you take Flirty over there to see Wynne," Varric grumbles, really not needing to see Merrill's beaming face right now.

Zevran smiles grandly as he rises to his feet, which in turn causes the cloak to slip a bit and display that he's only wearing some skimpy smallclothes at the moment. Merrill's eyes keep darting from there, to Hawke, to the floor, to Hawke, then back to Zevran far too rapidly to go unnoticed. "That sounds simply divine," he agrees with a flourish, then a wince.

Marian, impulsively, plants a kiss on Varric's cheek in thanks before divulging the name of her contact. "Alright, let's get going, then." _One less person I have to kill today._

~*~

It's the next morning before Marian remembers she was meant to go back and talk to her mother again the evening before.

She decides she doesn't care, rolls back over, and snuggles up to Merrill's back.

~*~

Marian puts down her spoon, staring into her porridge. "Unfortunately, I have to go fail at swordplay this morning, so I can't stay long," she announces to the room at large, avoiding Wynne's gaze.

"Uh-huh," Merrill says absently, staring at Hawke and Zevran with a slightly glazed look. "Can we have sex again?"

Zevran smiles, rather well pleased with himself and life in general. He's gotten free from dear old Master Smelly, found himself in a city where slavery is illegal and unpopular, is clean and healthy and just had the great honor of inducting not one but two delightfully responsive maidens into the arts of pleasure. Really, it almost makes the decade of slavery worth it. Okay, not really, but perhaps the last year of it at least. Maybe even two...

He glances up at the sound of conversation, replaying the words in his head. "Swordplay?" he asks, a faint furrow on his brow. "You've clearly the wrong build for that sort of thing, why would you torment yourself so?" He glances at Merrill after asking that, then at Wynne, who is giving him a rather stern look. "Ah, perhaps later sweet Merrill, I think perhaps your teacher might have some plans for you?"

Merrill blinks, then flushes. She does that a lot.

"I, uh, remember that scar on my stomach?" Marian blushes. The line is faint, and fading every day, but it's still there enough for Zevran to have noticed -- and traced with his tongue. "Mostly so that doesn't happen again."

"I do indeed, my fierce Hawke" he says, somehow making the innocently spoken phrase a seduction with naught but the way he looks at her. "But with a sword? No. Perhaps a greatsword, if you had started much earlier and were willing to ruin your trim figure with bulging muscle. No, you'd do much better with a spear or staff. Perhaps a glaive or even a scythe, though those are harder to master. Something you can use your clever brain to apply leverage with instead of relying on brute strength."

Wynne looks up from her morning reading to give Zevran a more appraising look. "An interesting observation, Mister Zevran."

Marian groans. "I'll tell Aveline that. Maybe she can figure something out."

"Aveline? Another friend of your's?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows lecherously.

"Oh my," Merrill says softly, clearly considering it now that he's said it.

Without comment, Wynne lightly smacks Zevran. "No lechery at the table."

The elf pouts but moves on easily enough. "I could show you a few things," he offers. "I've a certain degree of skill with long shafted weapons-- ow." He gives Wynne a deeply wounded look, but she simply stares him down. She had just warned him after all.

"Do you want to come with? Oh, but she's in the guard," the female half-elf warns him. "She's a good sort though."

"Friends in low places? And I had such respect for you, my fierce Hawke," he says mournfully. Sliding his gaze to Merrill, he asks pleadingly, "You're still entirely disreputable, right my sweet Merrill?"

The elf beams at him, then falters. "Wait, isn't being disreputable a bad thing?" she asks curiously.

Reaching across to pat her hand, Zevran turns his attention back to Hawke. "Probably just as well, this will give me a good opportunity to begin repaying my debt by singing your praises so that your reputation isn't slandered by any talk of supporting the slave trade."

She winces. "I'm sorry. I really should have been more concerned about your injuries and less about my reputation."

Zevran brushes it off. "My -- or should I say our? -- very own angel of mercy had already seen to any pains I had suffered," he answers airily, popping the last bit of fruit from his plate into his mouth and winking at Merrill.

"Will you be back tonight?" Merrill blurts out, clearly asking both of them.

Wynne frowns. "I let it go last night, but this is not an inn nor a brothel. I'll allow Mister Zevran to stay a few more nights, on the parlor floor, but that's all."

"Then it's doubly good that I accompany you, my fiery Hawke. Perhaps I can even put on a display of my own, less enjoyable skills and find myself a means of employment, no?"

Hawke winces. Without the payout from this job, she's not in nearly as good a position as she'd hoped. "Yeah, sorry, I really can't offer you a bunk at my place. Uh, speaking of which, I don't know yet. I'm going to talk to my mother today."

Wynne gives her a sympathetic look, which Zevran catches but lets go by without comment. "Well, sooner started, sooner finished," he says instead, rising to his feet. He offers them a bow, then his hand to help Marian up. "Let us off to see if a more appropriate weapon treats you more kindly."

Merrill looks a little disappointed but just gives her lover -- her lover! -- Marian a supportive smile.

Marian takes Zevran's hand, firmly ignoring the butterflies that flock through her gut. _No, bad girl! You just finished with that._

~*~

"...Hawke, you're being followed," Aveline greets the younger girl dryly. Marian had finished her mandated service a few weeks ago but still found herself at the barracks rather often. Between getting in an hour or so of training three or four times a week and working part-time keeping Aveline's paperwork in order, she somehow spends nearly as much time there still in fact. And sometimes she just ends up there to share a lunch with the guardswoman. Somehow, Aveline's never found the motivation to call a halt to any of this.

"My avenging angel, you forgot to mention that your dear friend was such a stunning beauty!" Zevran proclaims, getting an almost slack-jawed look from Aveline. "Such fire and power paired with enchanting green hairs, blazing red hair and that cute little freckled nose- how could you hold out on me after all we've done together?"

"I- what- you- fa-stop- I- Hawke! Explain!"

Hawke blushes beet red. _So he really is like this with everyone..._ "Ah, he, ah, I just -- he had some thoughts about rods. I mean weapons!"

"Also weapons," Zevran corrects her. "And how could I not have such thoughts when faced with two examples of how different and yet still marvelous the feminine can be?

Aveline scowls, her arms crossed. "Easily. And far less painfully," she growls.

The rake offers a smile but eases back. He's trying to drum up work, as unlikely as it is with the guard, so he doesn't want to offend her too much. "She mentioned she was trying to pick up some weapon craft and I just thought perhaps I could lend a hand. I'm a fair hand at any number of weapons and was thinking we could try her with a long-hafted weapon... a spear or staff?" he adds after a beat.

"He thinks it'd be easier since I'm so weak and all," Marian adds, tucking some hair behind her ear.

Zevran frowns, almost in unison with Aveline. Though she also glares at the elf.

"I said that you'd be better suited for a weapon that allows for skill and leverage to play a greater role, not that you were weak. If you were weak, I would still be lying beaten and chained in that warehouse shack."

Aveline relaxes slightly as Zevran explains what he'd actually said, then, "What!? Hawke, explain!" That's.... becoming her motto, isn't it?

"Dammit, Zevran!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her pocketbook was lighter by half, but Marian was going home to stay. They'd missed her! They wanted her back! Leandra had hugged her! Everything was going to be okay. All she had to do was keep her wits about her, keep secrets, and she'd be set for life.

Oh yeah, and the part Wynne had mentioned slyly before she headed off in the morning....

"Clinic, clinic," she mumbled, making her way through the streets of Coalside. Was it Rook street? Or Pawn? Crooked Street evidently, at least based on the extra letters some witty soul had added to the sign. Maybe she should have taken Wynn up on her offer to send her to an old student of hers instead but... that address had been in Shades and would likely cost double whatever it would here, even with a discount for the connection. And here we are...

It's actually not that bad. Oh sure, the outside looks filthy, but from what she can see through the windows, it looks nice inside. Nice-ish anyway. Just inside the open doorway is a waiting area, with a half dozen wooden chairs to sit in and a few crates to make up a desk. And there's actually a small line, which bodes well, of two men and a woman. Only one of the men has a visible reason for being here- he's gingerly not touching the nail impaled through the meaty bit of his hand.

Just behind Marian to the left, a smooth and accented voice remarks, "if naught else, you can be relieved your aim is better than his." Yeah, that's true; also where the fuck did Zevran come from? Astea man, wear a bell. Or maybe some creaky leather. Hmmm. leather...

Marian groans, turning to leave. _Crap, Zevran... I don't want him to realize I hadn't thought about this beforehand..._

And he's heading for the door. "Forget something? This isn't something to put off," he comments lightly, tapping a small pouch of something the jingles metallically. Wasn't he copperless this morning? "Only fair I cover the price for you and our sweet angel, no?"

"Ah! Uh, ah, hello, Zevran, nice to see you, _not so loud_." She hisses the last part under her breath, looking around nervously.

Zervan smiles innocently. "So loud? Why should your heroics be kept quiet, my fiery angel? If you were hurt last night, then, as the damsel in question, 'tis only right I should see to your care, no?" How can he possibly slip that much innuendo into there?

Marian being bright red doesn't help her case. "L-l-let's just wait in this line, okay?"

"Of course, of course," he says soothingly, deftly hooking an arm with her as they enter. "So how fares my fair lady this fine day since last we parted so bittersweetly?"

"I'm doing great." She smiles, despite knowing it's base flattery. "Moving back in with my family. It looks like the bridges are all mended now."

"Family is a fine thing," Zevran says easily, though for once Marian can see a shadow in the ex-slave's eyes. "I do hope the ever so lovely but despairingly distrustful Aveline didn't press you too roughly after my departure?"

"Ah! No. No, thank you, I think this staff idea has real merit."

They pass several long minutes making small talk, until the clinic's owner calls them back. The man has a long face, with day-old stubble and a large, all-too-human nose. His reddish-brown hair is pale, almost blond, and is cut on the long side, reaching about an inch down the nape of his neck in the back with a few dangling bangs in front. He's not elf-pretty, but he's cute, decides Marian.

"Hi, I'm Marian," she says, as they head to his exam room.

"Anders," he replies.

"And I am Zevran," the very elf-pretty elf says with a grin, somehow snagging Anders' hand to press a kiss to the back of. "Charmed, no?"

Anders looks at him, his gaze boring into Zevran's soul. "....quite." he says, in a deadpan voice. "This way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marian smiles at Varric as she passes him on the way to her room -- a good sign, probably. When she emerges with her bag a few minutes later, however, that's less of a good sign. Varric gives her bag a look, then the ceiling, then Hawke. "Please tell me you're moving in with Merrill?"

"It's fine. It's good. Varric, she _apologized_. We're going to start over, to face things as a family. There's not going to be any more shouting or pointing fingers or anything." She looks like she honestly believes it -- the sun has come out from behind the clouds on her face, beaming at Varric with renewed warmth.

"I thought Carver was male," Varric says laconically.

"Carver wasn't there. But they spoke. He'll listen to mother, even if he doesn't listen to me."

"You honestly think..." Varric knuckles his forehead, trying to not simply call her a draft moron. "Hawke, unless your brother accepts a bloody Geas spell, there's no real way he's going to change this much, this fast. Your mother either, for that matter. You're still magical, and I doubt they've suddenly reversed long held opinions about that and you haven't told them that did you?" he realizes suddenly. Hawke examines the ceiling, shifting her weight to shuffle her right foot slightly. "Aldyra grant her reason," Varric mutters despairingly, name-checking the goddess of knowledge. "So you were planning on hiding half of what you are, half of your life, and praying things work out? Not to mention Dandelion. She's a mage too, where you planning on keeping her as some kind of dark secret, carefully tucked away from your relatives forever?"

Marian flinches, but doesn't speak in her own defense. _Dandyli-- Merrill deserves better. Crap, are we dating now? We'll have to have a talk about that. And Zevran... there's no way they'll accept him either. I'll have to break up with them. But at least they'll have each other?_

"Hawke?" Varric probes after she's been quiet for too long. "Got an answer? Because I have to say, this is starting to sound more and more like you're just jumping in and hoping blindly it all works out."

"I got an answer," she says, sounding more resigned, more subdued. "But you won't like it."

"Do _you_ like it? Because it sure as dross doesn't sound like it." Varric's tone is getting rather worried, now, the pretense of uncaring falling away.

"Family's important." Her voice is quiet, the smile gone. "Sometimes it means making sacrifices."

"Really? And when are they going to get around to helping you? With _anything_?" Varric demands. "Zevran has done more good for you in the two days you've known him than your brother or mother have since you've gotten to Nyra! And I just had to remember you had sex!" he curses ripely under his breath in a mixture of exotic languages, shaking his head sharply as he does so.

To be fair, this causes _her_ to remember -- and puts the silly grin back on her face, if only for a few seconds. "They're my family, Varric. They put a roof over my head. They took care of me when I had nothing, when the whole village burned down."

"No, _Gammy_ put a roof over your head. Except he also stole a rather sizeable amount of gold for the privilege. And you've been paying him since you started earning a wage. So that's out. Took care of you? Is that what you're calling them berating, insulting, judging and blaming you day in and out now?" Varric has clearly lost his patience and ability to smooth-talk, instead just pouring out his worry and frustration. "Carver fucking _stabbed_ you, Hawke. Even if he says he won't do it again -- which, as far as you know, he hasn't -- that doesn't mean he won't lose his temper again. For fuck's sake, Hawke, you've been pushing yourself for weeks to learn self-defense because of _him_!"

"I started it." Her voice is barely above a whisper, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. "He stabbed me because I punched him, Varric. If I could just control my temper..."

"Fuck that! If I say mean words, that doesn't give you the right to punch me. If you punch me, that doesn't mean I can _draw a fucking weapon_! On his own blood! If he had socked you one in the jaw, I'd be pissed, but I wouldn't have to throttle back the urge to hang him upside down in a pool of his own shit, blood and piss." He closes his eyes then, visibly trying to calm down. "Keep sending them a bit of your pay if you really feel you must. But get away from them, Hawke. They're not worthy of you, any of them."

"He thought I was... " The tears start to fall. "He thought I was summoning demons, Varric. If there's anything that's worth stabbing over, it's that. He won't do it again. He told Mother so."

"...what, were you in the middle of a circle written in blood? Was there a bound sacrifice on an altar?" Varric demands. "Perhaps holding a book made of still bleeding skin, with a wailing face on the cover? You don't just start stabbing people on a hunch!" Which, okay, he's totally done if you allow crossbow bolts to equate to stabbing, but entirely different context. "Magic is not synonymous with demons and you of all people would never hold with that sort of shite."

"I lied to them, over and over! I vanish overnight, with no explanation given. I overstay my schedule and come back bloody and exhausted. I'm meeting strange people at all hours of the day. What was he supposed to think?! Nothing good, I'm sure." She realizes her voice is raised, loud and oddly strained, as she gives voice to a torrent of guilt she hasn't spoken aloud before. She takes a deep breath, struggling to control herself again, letting the next part come out softer. But soft is bad too, she realizes, as it lets the waver in her voice show through more, the odd hollow sound of it jarring her. "The problem is me, Varric. I'm the firebrand. I cause the fights."

"Right, because if you had tried to tell them you were getting magic lessons or trying to make enough coin to move out, they'd have been happy for you? Yes, you lied and you probably should have had the stones to tell them upfront. But that still doesn't excuse what they've done to you." He scoffs, shaking his head. "As for this firebrand stuff.. .I don't know. You've very carefully kept me from meeting any of them so I've not really seen you all together to know how you all mix. But I can't help but notice you don't have fist-fights with Aveline or Merrill or Wynne or myself. Hellsfire, have you ever even gotten into a shouting match with Wynne or Merrill?"

She shakes her head. "You've seen it, Varric. I have a wicked tongue. It gets me in trouble sometimes. I can't... I can't seem to stifle it. It's worse since I met you, truthfully."

"I might be a bad influence in the manner of being polite and meek," Varric allows. "I'd also say that you have more confidence is a large part of it. You know I find getting snarked at funny and that I won't try to, I dunno, as a wild example, stab you for it." He exhales sharply. "And again, snark and cutting words does not justify stabbing."

"But I make him so angry. I try not to do it to you, but... I've seen you angry." _Have I?_ she wonders briefly; she'd thought she'd seen his anger before, but this conversation was on a whole other level. She shakes her head, putting the thought aside. "You're likely to shoot someone, same as the rest of us."

"You've seen me angry," Varric confirms. "Not enraged, that's different, but angry yes. I get angry all the time, sure. Got into a screaming match with Bartrand just yesterday, but despite have Bianca literally on hand, I didn't shoot him. Because I have some fucking self-control." Varric sighs, then tries a slightly different track. "Alright, look at it this way -- it sounds like you and Carver has some strange ability to piss the other off, evidently past the point of him being able to not stab his sister. So maybe the best thing you can do for him, as his 'family' is to not be around him. Get some space."

"That won't be a problem for a bit -- he's gone off as a caravan guard. So it'll just be me and mother and Gamlen. When he gets back, we'll try again. I'll be nice to him, I swear."

"And then he says something and you say something back and then he yells and then it ends with him _stabbing_ you again," Varric grits out. Wait. "Hold on, you said he's gone? Then how did he promise to not stab you again, keyword 'again?'"

"He promised Mother before he left. He told her to pass along an apology, that he was going to spend some time working on himself while he was away. That he--" her throat closes, but she forces the words out. "That he doesn't want to lose another sister."

"Probably should have thought of that before stabbing you," Varric mumbles darkly. "You know this is going to end in tears if you go back, don't you? They'll never accept what you are or who you love. Why do you even need to live with them in the first place?"

"I have hope, Varric. I trust my family. I love them." She sighs, shouldering her bag.

 _But why!?_ "No, seriously, why do you have to live there? You're an adult, adults move out, it's a thing," he presses. "Adults visit their parents, they don't live there."

"I'm hardly an adult." she protests.

"Drink, kill, sex, living wage, age," Varric lists off. "How are you not an adult yet exactly?"

Marian starts. "...huh." she says, thinking hard. _There's gotta be a flaw in that logic. I never did finish school, but that's fine. I..._

Varric nods. "Yeah. You're even able to take care of yourself in a domestic way. Better than I can, in fact, at least you can make simple food. Shit, by Nyran law, as a half-elf, you're even old enough to take lower public offices." Not a chance she'd get it, but she could legally apply. "It's time to spread thy wings and fly forth into the wider world, oh Hawke. You're up for review for a raise at the end of the month, which I can safely say your absolutely wonderful and genius boss will be approving so even if you continue giving a third or so of your wage to support your mother -- who is not old enough to be retired -- you can easily afford your own place. Or pay rent to me, if you want to stay. Or just stay." He glances away, then back at her. "Please."

Marian stares at him, her chest feeling like it's in a vice. _He's... begging me?_ Unbidden, the feeling she recalls from the night of the stabbing comes rushing back. That feeling of dedication, that overwhelming desire to protect, to make the world better for someone. That feeling of love. And then she pictures what she'd feel if Varric were stabbed by Bartrand. If Varric were putting himself in danger. If Varric were in trouble. _Maybe... Maybe I should listen to Varric. Maybe I should trust him more than I trust Mother._ She looks away, trying to force back tears. "Alright," she whispers, pretending not to see the fresh tears dripping down her cheeks.

Varric sags noticeably, relief clear on his face before he mostly manages to cover it with his normal cheer and charm. "Good. That's... good. Thank you. We can... if you want, I can come with you. Explain about how you're moving out but will visit and... still support them," he has to force those last few bits out. He'd much prefer she make a clean break of it, but... even with the stabbing, he can see how it might be hard to let go of blood. And technically her mother hasn't stabbed Marian yet. Well, not with a physical blade anyway. "I promise I won't... chastise them with more than words for anything done before now," he adds, willing to let the past go if that's what it takes for Marian to let him help.

She weighs her options, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Finally, she sighs. "It's about time you met my mother, I suppose. Just... please don't stalk me. Or hurt anyone. Or commit arson."

Varric considers her demands and smiles internally. _Ah, to be so young and thus leave so much wiggle room._ "I think I can promise that much at least. I make no such promises about snark, sarcasm or honesty, but I won't hurt them physically." _Just means it has to be quick enough to be painless._ "Unless, you know, they try to stab anyone, in which case I'm taking that as permission to introduce them to Bianca."

She flinches. "No shooting, stabbing, wounding, or killing, even if I get stabbed," she scolds, more playfully. "Let's go."

~*~

Varric has long since known where Marian lived; still, she seems nervous about showing him, getting more apprehensive as they get close. There's Coalside and there's Coalside, though, and Marian's family's neighborhood isn't one of the "surprisingly nice so long as you're willing to put up with noise at all hours" parts of Coalside. Thankfully, it's not "gang HQ" Coalside either; this is "so poor I don't give a shit" Coalside, "next door to cats" Coalside, "turnover due to suicide" Coalside. Dogs roam the streets, some feral and some owned, impossible to tell them apart. The properties are falling to bits and still overcrowded. If there are any children, they're either hiding indoors or (more likely) working to support their families. It's a dismal place, where even the sunlight seems to have dimmed.

Marian leads him to the back door of a ramshackle house with a roof that definitely leaks, letting him into two rooms in the back of the house separated by a boarded-up interior door from the next tenant's space. A third tenet seems to have cut a fresh doorway into the side of a wall, judging by the exterior. A fourth has a rope ladder up to the attic. "I'm home, with guest," Marian calls, her voice the cheeriest thing in this hovel. There's no windows here; they've shattered and been boarded up long ago. There's a coatrack by the door, and a desk with stacks of mail that she rifles through for new letters.

"Just came from home," Varric corrects her nearly silently in Dwarven, his eyes warily roving about. He'd glared off a mugger and two pick-pockets just on the way here. Mind you, that's in large part because he's clearly wearing nice clothing and a gold earring, but still. Hawke alone is giving them almost two gold a freaking week, why are they still living here? If Carver is doing about as well, that's say three and a half. Ten gold and change is enough for the three of them to move to upper Coal. If Leandra out in some work as well, they could move to Clearbrook after a month or two of saving up. Where the fuck are they spending all their coin?

"Marian? Oh good, you're back," Leandra calls from the bedroom. "Gamlen has been out all day, could you get dinner started?" Varric shuffles a little awkwardly, trying not to snidely ask if Leandra's arms are broken.

"In a minute." Marian drops her bag by the door. "Mother, I wanted to talk to you about this moving back home plan."

_Specifically how I'm not doing it. I forgot how small this place was -- it didn't seem so bad before I moved in with Varric._

There's a long pause, then Leandra calls back, "what more is there to talk about?" A pause, then, "wait, did you say we have a guest?"

Varric clears his throat. "That she did," he calls back to profound silence and then the sounds of hurried movement.

"Marian, come here for a moment?"

'Sorry' the girl mouths to Varric, then ducks her head and hurries to the other room. "Yes, mother?"

Leandra is furiously trying to slip into a house dress while neatening her hair. From the look of things, she hasn't been out of bed. Probably reading her pulp books again. Wait, no, the the ash near the picture of Bethany looks fresh, so she must have gotten up long enough to give some prayers. "Why didn't you warn me you were bringing home a guest," she hisses at Marian. "Who is it?"

"My boss," she mutters, sheepishly. "He wanted to talk to you. I didn't know he'd be coming until just now."

"Your boss?" she repeats, frowning. "Master... Tethrin? Why would he want to talk to me? What did you do wrong?"

"Tethras. Nothing, Mother." _Don't say it don't say it don't say it_ "It's good to know you've been concerned about where I've been living these past few weeks" _dammit._

"Don't backchat," she says automatically, already discarding what was said. "What does that have to do with-" She cuts off, going pale. "Marian Bellflower Hawke! How could you shame your family this way." She waves her hand erratically, causing her half-on house dress sleeve to flap around, "Taking up as a mistress! Practically selling yourself, whoring yourself!" The only saving grace is even by the end, despite the rising volume, it's still only a loud hiss.

Marian goes stark red. "As a matter of fact, Varric's my pimp, not my lover. Just last night he whored me out to not one but two elves at the same time." She doesn't keep her voice down at all. In fact, it's louder than before.

There's a faint _pooshing_ noise from the living room, that Marian is familiar with -- the sound of a glove enchanted for storing releasing what it holds -- then the same sound again but with an impression of inhaling. Leandra turns chalk pale and sputters wordlessly for a moment. "Get out," she finally says. "Get and-and don't come back until you've come back to your senses. No daughter of mine will be a harlot! And after all I've done, after all my efforts to calm Carver down, you repay me like this? Get out!"

"I guess you don't want any of my whore's gold then, either, do you Mother?" she snaps, already backing toward the other room. _This was a mistake. The biggest mistake._

That, sadly enough, seems to give her more pause than anything else has this entire conversation. More than anything save Carver stabbing Marian (with a sword) has since Bethany died in fact. She grapples with it for a moment, then finally scowls darkly. "You'll find yourself an honest job and do your duty to your family," she finally declares. "Unless you plan to let more of us die?"

And that's enough. Varric strides into the back room. "First, It's Varric Tethras, you stupid bitch. Two, you're a stupid bitch who doesn't deserve a wonderful girl like Hawke as a daughter. And three, shut your fucking mouth before I break my promise to Hawke not to hurt you for the shit you've done to her." Marian's hands cover her mouth in horror as she watches the scene. That last sentence was like a punch to the gut. _Bethany..._

Leandra recoils, clearly scared of the dwarf. He's not drawn Bianca again. He's not holding a weapon. He's very still, his voice soft. He doesn't make any gestures towards Leandra or even get all that close. He just... radiates the impression that he'll kill the selfish bitch without blinking, without remorse and without any more effort than it takes to get whatever amusement he deems your death to be worth. It seems that now Marian has seen Varric enraged.

Marian presses her back to the wall of the hovel, watching Varric approach her mother. She wants to cry out, to stop him, but... she can't bring herself to do it. _Am I going to watch her die? Right here, right in front of me? Just like Bethany?_ Still, she can't move. Thankfully for Marian's moral quandary, Leandra's choice of rebuttal is to faint. Varric stares a moment, spits on the ground next to her, then turns to face Marian. He takes a deep breath, and his eyes thaw noticeably as he looks at the half-elf. "Good talk. Shall we be off then?"

Marian continues to stare at him, pale now. _Oh god. I would have let her die. I was going to let her die and not even blink twice. Just like Bethany._

"Hawke," Varric says firmly, then sighs. He snaps his fingers in front of her face, twice in loud rapid succession.

She jumps, letting out a delightful little squeak. Finally, she lowers her hands, noting the tremble in them faintly. "R-right. Let's get going. I'll-- I'll get my things." Head down, she darts over to the chest in the corner, taking out the last of her clothing to stuff into her bag on her way out the door.

As she comes over to the door, he reaches out for her, carefully to move slowly. She trembles a little, but she doesn't pull away much to his relief. "Hey, remember what I said? Words don't justify pulling out swords. Just scared her, is all," he says soothingly.

She shakes her head. "I know. I-- I trust you, Varric." She ducks her head, eyes lowered.

Sodding emotions. Pushing aside innate and cultural stoicism for his... assistant/friend/protégé, Varric pulls Mairan in for a clumsy hug. "Give... give it time. It'll hurt less eventually," he finally says.

The dam bursts; Marian sobs onto his shoulder, rapidly drenching his tunic with thick, ugly tears.

~*~

It's not the last time she cries that night. Marian doesn't seem to notice where they're heading until they get close to Wynne's place; she balks, trying to pull away, but Varric convinces her to go inside and talk to her friends. She's crying again by the time he knocks on the door, and the tears won't stop even as Wynne presses a cup of tea into her hands. Wynne has to reach around Merrill, who is glued to Marian and at least half in her lap. And also tear-streaked. Varric is hovering on the side of the room, trying to be supportive without getting close to any more tears. A small favor from the deities, Zevran is still out... somewhere.

"I-- thank you, I..." Marian wipes at her face with one hand, stumbling over where to begin.

"Of course dear," Wynne murmurs, running a gentle hand over the young half-elf's hair before taking a seat. "Take your time."

"You kn-know about, um, what happened with Carver. I think. I think you all know by now?" She looks up to Varric, as if asking him to keep track of her lies for her.

"Ummm, I don't think I know," Merrill mumbles into Hawke's shoulder. "Unless it's just that he's a big jerky jerk."

Varric snorts. "That's putting it mildly Dandelion. Carver stabbed her a few days ago. With a sword," he repeats. Again.

Merrill's back archers and she growls. "What!"

Marian winces. "You remember the night, I came to the door bleeding..."

Merrill growls again. "yes"

"That was because her brother stabbed her in the gut," Varric explains helpfully.

The half-elf puts up her hands quickly. "It's not like that! Look, Varric's being dramatic..."

"With a sword!" adds the Dwarf.

"It's not like that!"

"What part isn't exactly like that? The brother part? The sword part? How about the 'in your guts' part?"

"It was off to the side," she protests, more weakly.

Merrill smacks Marian on the arm. "No stabbing any part of my Hawke," she demands of... the world, probably. "Except sex types of stabbing."

Varric just raises his eyebrows at her. And ignores any part of what Merrill is implying. Or, you know, pretty much just saying.

Marian groans, hiding her face in her hand. "See what you've done, Varric? This is why I don't let you meet any of my other--" And stops short of finishing the sentence. _Oh._

Wynne silently reaches over to pat Marian on the hand. "Drink your tea dear."

Marian makes a face, but sips her tea obediently. Then puts the cup down and turns on Wynne. "How long have you known?!"

Wynne smiles serenely. "Varric and I talk," she says simply.

The girl groans, then turns on Varric. "How long have you been stalking me?"

Varric looks offended. "I don't stalk people, what kind of dwarf do you think I am?"

"How long have your men been stalking me?" she asks, in the exact same tone.

"That's better," he says with an approving nod. "Anyway, we all know about Carver stabbing you with a sword. In the guts. You can continue."

"That's not what I meant. I meant-- nevermind." _I meant how long has Wynne known Varric was my real family? That she wanted to be part of it?_ "Anyway. I left him alone a while to cool off. I've been sleeping over at Varric's."

"Our place," Varric says gruffly, ignoring the pleased smile Wynne sends at him.

"Look, do you want to tell the story or what?" Hawke protests.

"Do _you_ want me to tell your story?" he asks pointedly.

She flinches. "No. Probably not. You'd..." _He'd tell the truth. Or do you believe your own excuses, Hawke?_ "You wouldn't... get part of it right. Not yet." Her voice trails off into a whisper. "You don't know."

Merrill sits up then, looking Marian in the eye. "It's okay, Hawke. We love you," she says softly in elven, then leans in to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Whatever hurts you have been given, we love you. Whatever sorrows you hold, whatever mistakes you've made, we love you."

Varric glances away a little, but rather gruffy adds in, "what she said."

The tears start up again. "I would have let her die," she says, quietly. "I would have stood there and watched Varric kill her and not even tried to stop him. I'm everything Carver says I am."

"Bullshit!" Varric almost shouts. "If not for her, for me, you'd have tried to stop me. Maybe you were... stunned for a bit, but you'd have tried if I kept going. Freezing isn't some great sin, everyone freezes from time to time. And that sucker punch of hers..."

Marian wraps her arms around her stomach, doubling over like she's going to throw up, but the only thing that comes out is more tears. Merrill has to wiggle about bit to avoid being shoved off, but she manages to squirm around to the side without ever having to let go of Marian. "Shhhh," she whispers softly. "You're a good person, Marian Hawke. I wouldn't love you if you weren't."

Varric winces, realizing that maybe he shouldn't have reminded her of that little barb while she's still so torn up. Now that he has though... "Hawke... You didn't hesitate a second to rush in and save Isabela when those thugs tried to ambush her. You didn't freeze when that owlbear tried to eat Merrill. It wasn't... you didn't freeze when I scared the stupid b- Leandra. You froze when she stabbed you in the heart. With words."

"I wanted her to die." She whispers. "I knew I should move. I thought you might hurt her. But I couldn't bring myself to defend her. It was nothing to defend Isabela. I wouldn't think twice about defending Merrill or Wynne. But my own mother..."

"She may have birthed you, but no-one that can say... she called you a whore, then flat out blamed you for killing your sister," Varric bites off. "She's not your mother anymore."

Wynne's eyes harden for a second and then go slightly vague. "I can't say I entirely disagree with his opinion there," she admits, watching Merrill just hug Marian tighter.

"I told her-- I led her to that belief, you can't blame her for believing it."

"Please, she accused you of-- of-- with me," Varric fumbles, clearly unwilling to repeat Leandra's accusation. "You just... deflected the hurt with a witty rejoinder. Can't imagine where you picked that up," he adds with a somewhat forced laugh. Merrill looks confused, but Wynne purses her lips in disapproval.

"My mother," she gasps out, eyes closed. She can almost picture the look on Merrill's face.. and on Wynne's, for she's sure to have recognized what Leandra was saying and is just as sure to be judging Marian in light of it. "She... I went home. I was going to move back home, but Varric begged me not to. I couldn't... I couldn't let him down like that. So I went to tell her I was leaving. But I brought Varric. What was she meant to think? I was bringing home money, I didn't tell her where I got it or how much I got paid. Sometimes I had extra and sometimes not so much. I was gone all hours of the night. I vanished for weeks!"

"She could have asked you," Wynne says gently. "She should have asked you. Weeks ago, she should have asked what you were doing. Mind you, you should have told her long ago as well, but given how she treats you, I can understand why you did not."

"She didn't care," she says, bitterly. "Why would she? I'm her good-for-nothing kid, the one who stood there and watched while Bethany died."

"Bastion's mercy, Hawke, you were what, sixteen? I would have shit myself if a demon attacked me when I sixteen," Varric scoffs.

"While I certainly wouldn't have put it in that particular way, his point is valid," Wynne agrees. "You had no training and little to no ability to do anything to defend yourself, much less another."

"I didn't try," she whispers. "Bethany was-- she was the only good Hawke."

Merrill leans back for a moment, then slaps Marian. She's not very good at it, in fact, she hisses in pain and rubs her wrist. "I'll not have you talk that way about the woman I love," she says sternly. "You are very much a good person. You helped me, even after you weren't being paid anymore for it. You put up with me, even though I'm odd. And you saved Zevran, looked after him, even though he was a stranger. You've helped a lot of people. Saved the lives of some too. You help people. It's what you do, who you are. Maybe... maybe it's because you know how it feels. To lose someone, someone you love. I don't know. Maybe it's who you always would have become. If you were that girl again, you wouldn't freeze this time."

Marian laughs, bitterly. "I never get tired of the way you see the world, Merrill."

"Thank you," she says honestly, smiling a little at her.

Varric rolls his eyes. "She's not wrong, Hawke. A bit flowery and gushy, but not wrong."

Marian wants to discount him too. She even opens her mouth to say it -- 'well, of course you think that'. But... 'of course'? Does she really take it for granted that Varric thinks the world of her? And Merrill? And Wynne, even. And Zevran. What does that mean about her, that they all... She wipes at her eyes, looking up for the first time since she began telling her darkest fears. "I'm sorry. I'm being a total ass."

"It's a very nice ass," Merrill assures her. "Very firm and-"

"I will pay you to never say that ever again in front of me," Varric shouts, getting a confused look from Merrill and a 'no need to shout, we can all hear you' from Wynne.

"He doesn't--" she lets loose into a fit of dire giggles. "He doesn't like he-hearing about my having s-s-ex."

"Why not?" she asks curiously. "You're rather good at it. I mean, at least, I'm new to it as well, so what do I know. But I really liked it. It was a great deal of fun. Can we do it again tonight?"

Wynne looks vastly amused, but Varric has covered his face and is groaning softly.

"Merrill! He's like-- he's like my father, or something. Uncle. That's creepy."

Merrill giggles. "I know, but it's so much fun to tease him," she says brightly. Wait, so she was...?

Varric slowly looks up at the pair, his face a riot of emotions. Marian gapes for a minute as she realizes what she said, then blushes, and looks at Varric. _What's he--_ she wonders, scrutinizing his face, trying to tease apart the emotions there. _Did I...? Was that wrong?_

He finally closes his mouth with a sharp huff. "...well, I guess this means I should ask what your intentions towards... my daughter are then Merrill," he says to the elf with mock severity, though he can't quite hide all traces of his nerves as he makes the quip.

Marian looks at her lap, a smile peeking through the remnants of tears. "I never had a father. Well, I mean, someone sired me, but he didn't stay around. Came back every few years until one day he didn't. We figure he's dead." She wrings her fingers together a little. "Which is-- I mean -- thank you, Varric. For protecting me."

"Well, its a rough job but I like a challenge. You... keep me from being bored, that's for sure," he manages. Merrill beams at them both. He pauses, a thoughtful look on his face.

Marian flushes, her smile growing. "You wouldn't have it any other way." Smiling faintly, Wynne rises, commenting that she'll get dinner started.

"True enough Hawke, true enough," he says absently, then suddenly nods as if deciding something. "Hey, Wynne," he calls before the elder can make it all the way out of the room.

She turns back. "Yes?"

"Know of any houses around here up for sale? Coalside isn't exactly the best place to raise a family and all that, so I figure I should start looking around for a new place and... why not somewhere nea-" And then Merrill starts squealing and bouncing in joy.

"You don't have to," she says, touched. "Coalside is fine. You saw where I'd been living -- my room is bigger than the space I share with Carver."

"Eh, I have the coin, I just never bothered. Barely spent any time there before you moved in really," he explains. "Was really just a place to keep some stuff, and something to put on tax forms."

"Oh Hawke, we're going to be neighbors! We can visit all the time and- oh! You can come over for dinner. Which is good, because you're still a little skinny," Merrill says.

Wynne glances at Varric before continuing on. "I'll ask around and get back to you."

"Oh, and sleep-overs! I've always wondered what you do at a sleep-over..."

Marian doesn't enlighten Merrill, not tonight. Instead, she dries the last of her tears, smiling as she rubs at her eyes. _I was right, before. This feeling, this warmth... this really is what it's like to be loved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of "Act 1"; we open "Act 2" next chapter with the aftermath of the Deep Roads adventure. Obviously, this Hawke didn't bring Carver. I did in the game; I made him join the Grey Wardens because that felt fitting. But I have a lot more options here. 
> 
> This is also the majority of the main cast, as we've now met Zevran Fenris and Anders. I rather prefer Kae's Zevran to the game's Fenris for this role, but if you're a fan of old angst-face, I'm sure you'll have plenty to keep you going in the next few chapters.


	5. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bartrand leads a trip into the Underdark, but not all goes according to plan....

The Underdark is more than just deep caverns under the earth. Nobody's quite sure what it is, exactly, save maybe the gods and they're not sharing. But if you dig deep enough in one spot, you find yourself hitting a layer of magma that refuses to yield; dig in another spot nearby, and you break into a series of impossible tunnels, potentially never to find your way out. The creatures that live here mirror the surface world: elves, dwarves, gnomes, humans, kender. But they're all twisted, unlike their surface counterparts. Elves are vegetarians, preferring to live in harmony with nature; their grey-skinned cousins, the Drow, are cruel and perverse, making slaves of their male children and waging war with their females. Underdark dwarves, called Duergar, bear a deep-seated hatred for their surface kin, and their beards are laden with quills they can launch across a battlefield to poison their foes. It is a land of spiders and eternal darkness, but with the right map, it might also be a land of untold riches.

There are ways for surface-dwellers to explore the Underdark that don't suck. Years later, Hawke would meet someone who lives the shadows as if they were her own skin, someone for whom the dark is as comfortable as the light. Unfortunately, their guide for this expedition was Zevran, who took rather more after the surface side of his bloodline. He could see in the dark, making him ideal for scouting ahead; the rest of them had to make do with torches and ioun stones, lighting up the caverns they explored until they found themselves at last to the place they sought.

Day and night had no meaning this far into the darkness. It was a miserable slog, using candles to mark the hours until the candles ran out. It was damp, and for an elf like Marian, it felt claustrophobic. Something about these dark caves called to Verric and Bartrand more than it did to her; for them, it was like returning to the womb, being snug and comfortable and safe in the darkness. But they were outnumbered: Merrill and most of their hired hands preferred daylight.

They found the treasure they sought. They turned their party to head back. They would have been fine if they'd retraced their steps. But while looking for mushrooms to bolster their food supplies, one of the hired hands reported structures they didn't have on their maps. If they found something new, something nobody even heard whispers of... Bartrand made the decision, and at nearly nineteen, Marian didn't disagree. As much as she missed the sun, money had become a security blanket for her, and one she always feared to lose.

Marian scouted ahead with Merrill and two of the humans; one by one, they sent the humans back to report finding first a large temple, then a sealed inner chamber Merrill thought she could get into by deciphering the runes around the doorway. By the time Varric came running to tell them that sounded like the worst idea possible, he met a tearful Merrill coming back, running for a healer.

"I don't know what happened," she told him, panicked. "She touched the gem and then she just... collapsed." There were more words, after that, but they didn't matter.

The next ten minutes, the next hour, the next day- it all went in a blur. Running to find Hawke, eyes vacant and expression _elated_ , pitched over on the ground. Carrying her back to the group, demanding that Merrill, that Anders, that _anyone_ help her. Finding the small blood-red gem -- a brooch or talisman really -- so tightly held in her hand that the edges had cut clean through her skin. Trying to get it free, to rip it away from her and destroy it, only to find it's fused to her bone. That neither healer prepares a means of breaking curses normally but that they can try in the morning.

Finding out that neither of them are strong enough to break _this_ curse, the one that matters.

Zevran and Isabela running ahead of the group, rushing the surface to find Wynne and have her meet them on the surface to save a half day of travel. An incredibly foolish kobold tribe attempting to raid the caravan. Killing ten of them himself, even the two that were trying to flee because Hawke is helpless right now and he can't do anything about it. Even the two healers can help keep her comfortable, keep her stable and alive in the hopes that Wynne can fix her, bring her back. Finally, they reach the surface. Finally, Wynne is there, eyes filled with age and something _other_ , but he doesn't care, he just wants Hawke to be okay.

The talisman falls to the floor, forgotten -- by him at least -- as Hawke's eyes finally go soft and flutter closed. As that damnable smile finally relaxes into restful sleep. As his daughter is finally let go from whatever was gripping her. As, for the first time in three days, he can finally allow himself to stand down and... maybe... get... some rest... himself...

~*~

He wakes up in his own bed. He's still wearing his underclothes, but not his armor, and Bianca is resting against the wall by his bed, cleaned and polished. He's tucked into the covers, and his head is laid gently on the pillow. For a moment, he can think that the whole thing was a bad dream. That everything's okay. That nothing went wrong.

Then his eyes fall on his daughter. She's curled up in an armchair she must have dragged here from the sitting room, her blanket draped around her, clutching a mug of tea like her life depends on it. When nobody's looking -- for she clearly hasn't noticed his awakening -- she looks small, and scared. Her eyes seem to see into the future, and she doesn't like what they see.

Twisting out of the bed -- not even taking the time to store Bianca -- he lands on his feet. "Marian!" His eyes dart to her hands -- the left is bandaged, why is it bandaged, why didn't they just heal it? -- but there's no bump to show anything being there that shouldn't be. "Why aren't you still resting?"

She jumps, not having expected him to leap out of bed like that; some tea spills onto her bandaged hand. "Varric! Thank the gods." Her relief is palpable, but she forces a wry smile onto her face. "I should have known."

"Better than to touch something that might as well have been engraved with the words 'do not touch: evil, cursed and dangerous'? You're right, you damn well should have!" he shouts, all his worry and concern exploding out of him.

She shrinks back from him, but only for a moment; then the fire lights in her eyes, and she straightens. "If I never did anything people told me not to, I'd still be living at home without two copper to rub together, so forgive me for trying to earn your expedition some extra gold."

"Fuck the gold!" he bellows. "You almost _died_ , Hawke! No, worse, you were almost taken over by something! Merrill couldn't figure out what it was, but it-- it wasn't anything nice," he finishes, voice cracking a little.

"So what if I did? I didn't die. That's what matters. It's like you have no faith in me at all!" Hawke doesn't raise her voice all that often, but she'll yell to match his volume.

"Should I? I thought I could, but then you went and--" He visibly throttles back his temper. "The only reason you're alive, that some _thing_ isn't walking around in your flesh, is because of Merrill. And Wynne. And Zevran, Isabela and even Anders. It took all of them to get you out of the danger you put yourself in because you couldn't wait a few gods be damned minutes for someone to check out the obviously trapped relic. Fuck, did you even bother to check it yourself?"

"Of course I did." She snaps. "You wear magic on your person all the time, so I don't see where you get off lecturing me about magic artifacts. It's not like I can afford much in the way of magic myself."

"Magic items I bought from merchants or spellcraftsmen, not found in some creepy looking ruin in the Underdark." He presses a hand against his temple. Voice low, he asks, "Hawke, do you even care what happened? Sweet Astea, if she hadn't had to keep you alive, I don't think Merrill would have... You were almost possessed by a demon. Or maybe even something worse. And she watched it happen, watched you fall. Almost broke me and I only saw the aftermath."

 _Almost..._ She pushes the thought away, reaching instead for her favorite weapon: that angry place inside her, the place where her ice comes from. "Stop it," she hisses. "You know how I feel about demons -- of all the things to throw in my face!"

He flinches, expression showing his shock at her words. "I-- I didn't mean to go for a weak spot. Anders couldn't figure out what was in the talisman, but it was evil and non-mortal. Maybe it was a demon, maybe it was something just as bad, I don't know. Whatever it was, it almost ate you from the inside out, Marian. I'm not trying to... to use your sister, it's just.. what happened. What almost happened, anyway." He leans back, resting against the side of the bed.

Marian starts to shout, but checks herself when she sees the honest shock on his face. Just like that, her anger winks out, and she crumples back against the chair. "....I know," she whispers, looking at her lap. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too. I'm... well, I can't say I'm not upset, but I'm more worried than anything else." He's quiet a moment. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Was I... did it really seem as bad off as all that from the outside?"

"How do I... okay, imagine me looking like this," he unfocuses his eyes and puts on a far too broad, far too... empty smile, "for three straight days." He shudders, then continues, "And your heartbeat went to a tenth of the right speed. Breathing too. And you clutched that damn talisman so hard it cut into your hand almost to the bone. Didn't help that... that Anders keep going on about it maybe being this or that. Fucking endless theories about how it could be hurting you or eating your soul or--" He cuts off, looking irate again.

She shudders, pulling her knees in close. After a moment of futzing with her teacup, she sets it down beside the chair instead -- letting Varric see it's frozen solid anyway. Then she pulls her knees in, hugging them to her chest under the blanket. "It was... I was worried, when you were sleeping. I thought it might have found you too." she says, after she gets arranged.

"...what did it... what was it like for you?" he asks quietly, yanking the blanket off the bed to drape around her as well.

She shakes her head. "Like... like a nightmare."

"And then you wake up and first thing I do is yell at you," Varric says, clearly disgusted by himself. "Shite..."

She waves a hand. "It's fine, Varric. I -- I can't say I'm not used to it. Or that I don't deserve it."

"Ouch."

She looks up at him. "What? Oh, no, I didn't mean -- I fucked up. I get that."

"No no, if I act like Carver, I deserve to get told off. That's not the look I want," Varric says firmly. "You call me on that, permission granted right now forever."

She sighs. "And if I'm summoning demons, I want you to call me on that."

"Deal," he says warmly as he finishes tucking the extra blanket around her. "And you didn't summon it, you just... made a mistake. Big one. Really big one. But it wasn't on purpose so yeah."

She sighs, more contentedly this time as she snuggles into the blankets, pressing her head against his shoulder as her eyes drift closed. "You see? This is why I couldn't go. I'd have missed this."

"Sap," he teases her. Doesn't stop him from stroking her hair gently. "You should rest a bit more, alright? I'll keep watch for a bit."

"Sure thing," she says, tiredly, as her muscles relax into sleep.

~*~

_Smoke floods her nostrils. She can't breathe. She can't even think. She doesn't care. 'Varric's still inside!' The heat overwhelms her, she has to drop to her knees to find fresher air, and still, she can't get to his room, he's inside, he's trapped..._

__This is your fault. __

_No, I tried, I didn't mean to, it wasn't me_

__Just like Bethany. If you'd only listened. __

_Searing pain and bright light. When she comes to, she's cradled in Anders' arms, the redhead murmuring soft words of comfort to her._

_'Varric...'_

_'He's gone, luv.'_

_No... it can't be true._

__You know it is. You killed him. Unless... __

_The stone. Varric... he deserves better than this. Better than me. He'll have to kill me after, but... I know he'll manage. Where did he put the gem?_

~*~

It's three in the morning. There shouldn't be anyone moving around in the house. And yet, somehow, there is. Could it be that Wynne was having nightmares about Marian too? Padding out into the main room, Merrill glances around. It's dark, which makes sense, it being night and all, but the moon is beaming cheerfully down on the world and that makes it easy enough to look about. Rather kind of him, actually. Or her maybe. Hmmm. Definitely him, the moon just feels like a him, Merrill decides. Of course, they've never met, so she could be wrong. Maybe she should ask? Something to ponder, she decides with a nod.

Patting Bob on his furry rodent belly -- the little mouse is such a dear, knows how worried she's been these last few days, look at him floating up to nest on her head to groom her hair, very kind of him -- she pauses a moment to recall why she'd woken up. Oh right, she'd heard someone moving in the other room. And she's almost certain it was with her ears. Even if it wasn't, it would still be rude not to go say hello, wouldn't it be? Hmmm, that one is something to ask Wynne.

Poking her head out, she peers around with wide eyes. "Hello Hawke. Did you lose something? I lose things all the time. Oh, but you should be sleeping." She lets out a soft, dismayed noise. "Or did you have a nightmare? You could come sleep with me if you like. I rather like I'd like that honestly, for me as well."

Marian looks up from where she's rifling through Wynne's sewing supplies. She looks... not in a good way. Her eyes are too wide, her mouth half-open as she gasps for breath. "Merrill... Merrill, you have to help me. I have to find it. It's the only way. Please, I--"

She chokes off into a half-sob, turning back to digging through the needles and thread. Merrill can't make out the fine details, but Marian looks to have bags under her eyes. There's white streaks up and down her arm where she's been scratching at her arms frantically, though she's not doing it at the moment.

Bob chitters worried, mentally nudging Merrill to share his concern-- not she really needed the tip, all things considered. "Oh, well, okay, of course I'll help Hawke," she says softly, moving fully into the room to look around. "Help with what?"

"That gemstone, you remember?" _Of course she remembers, don't be an idiot._ "There's been-- I'm having-- there's a problem, I need it back. I think Varric must have given it to Wynne to safeguard." Varric... Her heart feels like it's been squeezed in a vice. _Stay calm. Just find the stone. Then everything will be alright._

"Ohhhhh," she says thoughtfully, studying Hawke intently. "Here, let's try this first, just in case, okay?" she offers, holding out her hand.

Hawke turns to look at her again. "What?" she croaks out, wiping a tear from her eyes. She's learned not to let Merrill touch her after a statement like that...

Merrill blinks owlishly at her. "Well, you're worried about bad things, right? I can cast spells to prevent that sort of thing, Wynne taught me." On her shoulder, a pair of large black eyes stare at Hawke as well, though they blend well enough the half-elf doesn't notice.

She stares at Merrill for a moment, dumbfounded. _Bad things...? If Wynne taught her, she's probably talking about healing. Is she planning to put me to sleep? No, I need to be awake. I have to do this before it's too late. I don't know how long after de-- something like this you can bring a person back._ "You don't understand. It's not the same danger. This is new. Varric... Varric is in trouble."

"The same danger as what, Hawke? You're not being very clear about things," Merrill chides her lover. "Varric is at home, well, your home, not mine. Not mine yet anyway, I was actually wondering about... Oh, sorry, right, we were talking about Varric. Isn't he still asleep? If you're worried about him, we could go check in with him right now then."

 _No... she'll see what I saw, she'll --_ "I just," she croaks, her voice hoarse. "I just came from there. It's bad, Merrill. Real bad."

"Well, I'm a healer so maybe I can help? If it's bad, I mean, a healer is very much a good thing to have," the elf patiently explains. "Oh, and I can set things on fire or hit them with lightning bolts if the bad things are more the active sort of bad and not injuries."

Marian whimpers, dropping her gaze as she stands. "Please," she whispers. _There's nothing she can do._

"...Hawke? What happened to Varric? What's the bad thing?" she says, voice more firm this time.

"He--" Everything in her rebels against saying the words. It's as if, if she says them, they'll be true. But... she needs Merrill's help. There's no way she's getting the gem without help, not if it's really in Wynne's room like she's starting to fear, and of all the friends that will help her, Merrill might be the only one to do it tonight, rather than trying to make her sleep on the decision. "He's dead," she whispers, her voice sounding hollow and broken.

"Oh. Well that's not so bad. I mean, it is, but it won't have to be? Wynne can fix that. It's not an easy spell, but she can still heal that," Merrill says gently. "We can just wake her up and go help him."

"Without a body?" she whispers. Her hands start shaking; she balls them into fists, but the shaking won't stop. "I can't fail him, Merrill. I can't let this happen. I have to undo it."

"I'm really sorry Hawke, but I don't think I'm clever enough for this," Merrill says apologetically. And then Marian remembers it's o'dark in the morning and wow that rugs looks really com--

~*~

This time. she does not dream.

~*~

Marian wakes. As she becomes more aware of her body, her situation, she becomes aware of the hollow, empty place inside her. Something is missing. Something is wrong. For a moment, her mind slips back a year. _Bethany,_ she whimpers, remembering her little sister's brave smile. But no, that's not it. Bethany is dead. Thinking of her doesn't inflame the ache anymore. She still misses her, but... that's not what's wrong, not now. Something was--

"The gem," she murmurs, as the pieces fall into place. Varric. The Gem. She needed...

Her legs felt like jelly. There was no urgency to her need. She felt like an abandoned ragdoll. Opening her eyes feels like a struggle -- and why bother, if this was what waking felt like?

Her murmur seems to echo back at her. Except it's in Dwarven. And a curse. Okay, not much of an echo. A second later and a strong, blunt fingered hand takes one of her own. "Hawke? Hawke, you awake or just talking in your sleep again?" Further back, there's another voice, this one higher and lilting, that says something she can't make out.

 _Dwarven..._ Something about that nags at her. She knows this voice. _Does Anders speak Dwarven?_ But that feels wrong. This is important. Maybe important enough to open her eyes for. With effort, she cracks one eye open, struggling to make out clear vision through the haze of sleep and tears.

"There's my girl. Back with us Hawke?" A very familiar red-gold head of hair is leaning slightly over her. "Gave us a bit of a scare last night. How's your head?"

The other voice mumbles something that might have been 'soallthesorry' or something.

 _That's...._ "Varric?" she whimpers, a hint of hope creeping into her voice.

"Who else could be this ruggedly handsome and yet charmingly debonair?" he replies with a soft laugh.

"Because..." she whispers, still staring at him. "Because you're dead. I saw..."

A pause. "No, still alive. Promise."

"It was the gem. You said you saw him die but he didn't and you wouldn't explain anything really and just -- you didn't look good or like you, which is usually the same thing and I had to knock you out and you might have hit your head a little but I healed you and-and-and I'm really sorry!"

Varric winces a little as Merrill starts to babble, stepping away so he can grab Merrill and tug her over to Hawke.

 _Varric is alive._ Her mind feels like it's in a fog, but the fog is rapidly clearing, and leaving relief and gratitude in its place. _Varric..._ "Thank you, Merrill," she whispers, as her stomach turns at the thought of what she was planning. _I just got free of that thing, and I wanted to go back? I ever thought he'd want that?_

"...I'm confused," Merrill confesses, her face coming into view. "I thought people would get angry if I make them sleep? Wynne told me I couldn't do that, even if the man at the market was very shouty."

Varric chuckles, nudging Merrill closer to Hawke can reach her. Hawke is a bit like him -- being helped makes them embarrassed but comforting others makes them feel more secure, which should help right now.

"You did-- you did good, Merrill. This time." She raises an arm, fighting through the remnants of sleep to beckon Merrill into a hug.

Not one to turn down that sort of invitation, Merrill instead crawls into the bed to cuddle up against Hawke. "Okay," she says in a small voice. "You scared me, Hawke. I didn't like that you."

"I scared me too, Mer." She sighs, pulling Merrill close to her body and holding her gently. "I thought... I was so sure, I'd seen..."

"As... touching as it is to know me... to know how much you'd miss me, Hawke, I want you to promise, if that ever does really happen, if I'm ever killed, you don't ever, ever try to make that kind of deal," Varric demands softly. "I may make light of the gods, but I figure I'm at least heading to one of the less shitty places so don't... not for me, alright? Promise me."

"I know," she says, quietly, into Merrill's hair. "But... it wasn't really _for_ you, Varric. I know you'd be alright."

"Ah." He's quiet a moment and Merrill speaks before he can resume.

"It talked to you, didn't it? The gem. It's not just evil, it's a being, a clever, mean, talky kind of evil that _almost took you away from us_."

"Yeah," she says, quietly. "It... it made me an offer, after I touched it. It showed me things. I... I don't want that, I don't think. But... I guess, some part of me must."

"...yeah, we all have parts of us that want stupid things. Bad things. I'm sure The Law's mentioned the... rumors about my brother? You really think that sometimes, I don't consider if maybe he's right? That maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a little more flexible about our deals and our merchandise? Dream a little about how much more coin we could bring in each month if we stopped worrying about lines?"

Marian nods. "It seemed like... a large part. I knew what it was showing me was wrong, but... I was tempted, Varric."

"I talk to things too," Merrill offers to the crook of Marian's neck. "Not evil things, just... strange ones. Wynne told me to stop but they're just so interesting. And they're not harmful or mean, just very curious. Like me."

Varric's expression is... a picture.

"Merrill. I don't think... I don't think it's safe to talk to anything without a face," begins Marian weakly.

"That doesn't seem very friendly," she protests. "Most of my friends don't have faces."

"I have a face," points out Marian.

You do," Merrill agrees happily. "Which is nice because I can kiss it."

Varric winces and rolls his eyes in one busy expression. "So... back on topic, who are your, ah, no-faced friends?"

Merrill squirms a little so she can be still pressed against Marian's side and sort of look at Varric. "Oh, there's Woosh! and Pep and Nyrite and Elderite and Gusty and Loqueilianolos and -//-_---:"-- and Pebbles and-"

"Sorry, what was that last one?"

"Pebbles?"

"Before that one."

"-//-_---:"-- ?"

Varric stares at her, then Marian. "The fuck?"

"That one. Don't talk to that one." Marian replies, firmly.

Merrill pouts. "Why not? He-it's very nice, And funny! Reminds me of Varric really..."

"I... I don't want this conversation anymore. Hawke, no more evil artifacts, alright? They make things like this happen... evidently."

"I'm sorry," Marian mumbles into Merrill's hair. _It's not enough. It's never going to be enough. You brought a demon into their homes. Do you think they'll just forget that?_ No part of her has an answer to that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time moves on. Marian begins to get her feet under her, to be steadier. Varric finds a suspicious amount of extra gold in his cashbox one day; she finds it in a new lockbox in the middle of her bed, sending a clear message that he won't take her money. They fall back into a routine; if she spends more time practicing with Zevran than before, well, good, it's about time.

A month passes. Things seem, tentatively, to be going alright. Marian's even talking about finding side jobs again, getting that itch for adventure back. And then, one day, while Varric is enjoying his ale and Marian's in the restroom, he looks up at just the right moment to spy a man walking into the pub. He's never seen this guy in person before, but he'd know him anywhere. He has Hawke's cheekbones, her dark eyes, her short hair. And a good bulk muscle on her and a head of height, with a greatsword strapped to his back. Worse -- he's scanning the bar, looking for something... or someone.

Varric glances down at his gloved left hand thoughtfully. "Promised I wouldn't go after him," he says to her regretfully. "Then again, he did come to me..." Shaking his head, he gets to his feet and ambles in Carver's direction. Plastering a smile on his face, he offers a wave.

Carver frowns slightly, but turns back to the barkeep. "I'm looking for someone, about my height and build?"

"You and me both," the bartender replies, looking Carver up and down with a smile.

"Hoping to try stabbing her in the gut again?" Varric asks cheerfully, eyes hard.

Carver whirls, narrowing his eyes. "And you are?"

"I'm her family," the Dwarf says simply. "What do you want?"

"That's funny, I'd have heard of you if you were. Who are you really? Her pimp?"

"Your sister doesn't need help finding company," Varric replies, not unhappy to keep Marian's barb going a bit. "Again, what do you want?"

Carver's voice drops low. "Whatever Gamlen's deal is with you, I'll buy him out. I have a hundred gold right here and now I'm willing to hand over if you let my sister go and never come near her again."

Varric flat out laughs in his face. "Please, her last job brought in triple that in one night," he bats back. He pauses a moment, then sighs. "She's not a whore, you dumb shit. Gods, you and your mother really think the worst of her, don't you?"

Carver's hands ball into fists. "Whatever you have her doing. Mother told me about your visit while I was away. I know Gamlen's tied up in this. Greedy bastard doesn't get my sister's body, no matter what he says about family loyalty."

"No-one is -- well, okay, Hawke is in a relationship, so there's--" He makes an expression of distaste. "Okay, I'm not talking any more about Hawke's completely voluntary sex life. She works as my assistant: paperwork, interviews, running errands. Makes a fair bit of coin on the side doing odd jobs. Merc stuff mostly. And I'm sure as slag not working with Gammy."

 _Merc stuff..._ "Marian? A mercenary? I'd pay to see that." He sighs, drawing his hand down over his face. "Look, Mother's clearly made a mess of things. Where is Marian living now? Can I visit?"

Varric stares at him a long moment. "Tell you what. Grab a table and order some dinner. I'll see if I can track her down and see if she can stop in. If not, I'll at least come back to let you know when she's free to met up."

"Sure. Worth a shot." Carver sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks, man."

"Varric," the dwarf informs him before heading off. He makes as if he'd left, but instead slips into the back of the tavern to intercept Marian before she returns to the main room.

Marian's just on her way back out when he finds her. She smiles, tilting her head. "Miss me?"

"More often since you got that new armor," he replies, giving her new duds an approving look. Wasn't cheap, but she'd really needed an upgrade, for a while now. "But, ah, something came up. Kind of heavy."

Marian raises an eyebrow and snickers. "If I didn't know you... What's up?"

"...oh for the love of-- you need to stay away from Flirts and Flirty for a few weeks and detox. Gods, don't even--" He shudders. "But speaking of your body -- ugh -- your brother showed up to buy you back from my lecherous clutches. And Gammy's too, evidently we're partners or something."

Marian's silent laughter fades as she hears the end of that sentence. "Wait. What? Carver?" _Fuck._

He was going to ease her into that slower but.. oh well. Maybe fast was better. "Yeah, he's got a hundred gold he was planning on buying your freedom back with. Evidently your mother grabbed your barb and ran with it with both hands. Fast and far. As far as I can tell, he's actually here because he thinks you need help."

She smirks. "Want to fuck with him?"

"I already did. Looked like he was about to cry, so I told him you were doing office work and doing some merc jobs on the side," Varric admits. "Or maybe that was the strain of not stabbing me in the gut."

She rolls her eyes. "Alright, alright. Where is he? I'll go talk to him."

"Told him to grab a table and order something to eat. Figured you could steal some of it," he explains.

"Fair enough. Wait for me? We don't need a shooting here."

"Can I skulk nearby and throw bits of food at him when he's an ass?"

She laughs. "Wait at our table. If swords come out, you'll be able to summon Bianca in a heartbeat anyway."

She goes then, sitting across the table from her brother as the two begin to speak quietly to each other. Things seem to go well at first; she laughs, he looks tense and moody, but neither seem angry. That doesn't last long. He gets a self-satisfied smirk; she stands, narrowing her eyes at him. He holds up both hands, palms out in a placating gesture. She scowls at him, but begrudgingly sits anyway. He hangs his head, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. She sighs, glancing off toward the dartboard. His expression softens, and he holds a hand out as if to shake. Still, she seems wary, glancing at the hand and then up at his face. She says something; his gaze immediately darts to Varric's face. She laughs, and says something else. Finally, he nods, looking back at her. She shakes his hand, then steals a potato wedge before getting up to head back to Varric.

Just as she's in mid-turn, not watching him nor Carver, Varric flings a small roasted potato at the back of Carver's head. And then lifts the mug of ale in his other hand to his lips. Hmmm, tasty ale.

Marian slides into the booth as she finishes the wedge she stole. "Well, that went well."

Varric lowers his mug, a look of faint surprise on his face. "Oh hey, didn't realize you were done. So it went well?"

"Yeah. So uh, in unrelated news, I got a job." She smiles.

"...on the walk back to the table?" he asks blandly.

"Something like that." She rubs the back of her head. "Anyway, I'll be shipping out in a couple days, I'll be gone for about a month."

That gets a long, hard look. "Hawke. Marian. In the year we've known each other, what possible event, occurrence or conversation gave you even the slightest indication that I'd be content with vague details and suspicious timing?"

"Varric. In the year we've known each other, what possible event, occurrence, or conversation gave me the slightest indication you'd be content with my going on a job with my brother for a month without you?" she fires back.

"Exactly!" Varric gives a nod, then pauses. "Did we just agree that you're not going, that I'm coming with you or that we're both confused about something?"

Marian sighs. "I'm going, you're not, and I'm bringing Zevran so you'll pretend you believe I can protect myself without you around."

"It's not... exactly about that. I know you can protect yourself, I just-- wait, Zevran? You're taking Flirts along? On a job with Carver? Never mind, objections withdraw, blessing given, bring a scribe to record everything."

She laughs. "Holy shit, you're right, this is going to be the best trip ever."

"I need to set up a pool," he mutters to himself. "Err, anyway, where are you heading?"

"Some city or another. Carver's signed on to guard a merchant caravan, and he wanted me to come too, see if we can't patch things up. There's one other slot open, so I told him I'd be bringing a friend. He made me promise not you, so that basically left Zevran."

Varric gives a wide eyed, hurt look. "He.. he doesn't like me?" he asks in a broken whisper. "Is it because I wouldn't let him stab me in the guts? With a sword!"

How'd Varric's own chunk of potato end up in his face like that? Weird. Must be someone with incredibly quick reflexes around here.

~*~

"But seriously, Zev. I really don't want anyone getting stabbed on this trip. So maybe pick someone else to flirt with?" finishes Marian, as they walk to the rendezvous point bright and early on departure day. They'd gone through security on the way out of town; in theory, they should have removed the peacebonding required for all weapons, but Marian's staff didn't have a sheath to be locked into and Zevran didn't carry weapons larger than a knife on his person, so it had been a breeze for them.

"I don't understand," Zevran says airily as he swishes past her, tossing a wink at one of the caravan porters, a burly looking half-orc. "Moi?" he asks in elven. "Flirt? Perish the very thought," he adds, hips swaying as he turns and spots a very built male Hawke. "Oh my yes," he purrs, speeding up.

_Thwack! _Good thing Marian hits like a mage, or that might have stung. "Pay the fuck attention! This is serious."__

__"Serious? That'll never do." Marian's heart skips a beat as she turns enough to see the incredibly hot waitress from a while back._ _

__"...oh gods. This is that damn gem again isn't it?" mutters Marian. Taking advantage of her distraction, Zevran... vanishes. Well... he's a grown adult, right? He can keep himself in line. It's not like he was going to go flirt with her little brother or anything._ _

__"Something I said?" Isabela asks, with a laugh._ _

__"Right, I have about half a minute before this all goes to shit, so real fast, why are you here?" demands the half-elf, scanning the assembled crowd packing up the wagons and doing a final inventory check._ _

__"Same as you, I assumed -- hiring on as a guard." Isabela glances over Marian's shoulder, then back to Marian. "I assume Carver Hawke is your little brother?"_ _

__Marian groans. "I don't know, I don't want to know. Just please, things aren't very good between us right now, so I need you to not start a fight, okay?" She spies Zevran at last, right where she hoped he wasn't: introducing himself to Carver. _How. How did he move that fast?__ _

__~*~_ _

__"Why hello! You must be Carver, the ever lovely Marian's brother. I must say, it's clear that looks are a family trait," Zevran says warmly "Oh, I have forgotten my manners, deepest apologies. I am Zevran the Astoundingly Fanciable. A true pleasure to met you, for us both I hope."_ _

__Carver blinks. "...right. So you're my sister's.. friend?" he asks, cautiously._ _

__"Oh yes, we're very friendly. Perhaps we too could be friends?" the elf asks brightly, reaching out to lay a warm, sort hand on Carver's forearm._ _

__Carver swats his hand away, taking a step back. "No." he says, flatly._ _

__"Perhaps in time," the elf replies with a winsome smile, clearly unoffended by the rebuff._ _

__"Never." Carver looks up, over Zevran's shoulder, and his expression brightens. "I'm going to go talk to my girlfriend now."_ _

__Zevran follows his stare and blinks. "I... had not realized you and Hawke were that sort of family," he muses out loud. "I approve."_ _

__Carver's face twists into a mask of fury. "Not her, idiot! Isabela."_ _

__"Oh you sweet boy," Zevran says gently. "Let us go then. You shall grow and I shall be amused. And perhaps console you," he muses._ _

__~*~_ _

__A few minutes later, the four are standing around awkwardly. Marian stands right beside Carver, as if to protect him from Zevran -- or vice versa. Isabela is content to stand beside Zevran, eyeing his behind unrepentantly. "Hello, stranger," she says, playfully._ _

__Carver frowns. "Hey!"_ _

__Marian blinks. "That's Isabela. She's like that."_ _

__"Delightfully so," Zevran chimes in, flexing slightly to show his appreciation for her appreciation. "So! Everyone has met everyone, no? Shall we retire someone to further this knowing each other?"_ _

__"Not in front of my brother," Marian snaps. "Carver, this is Zevran and Is--"_ _

__"You know Isabela?" Carver demands._ _

__Marian blinks. "I think everyone knows Isabela."_ _

__Isabela laughs. "Some better than others. But yes, I know your brother Carver."_ _

__Carver nods. "We're dating," he stresses, glancing to Zevran._ _

__"News to me," says Isabela._ _

__"Oh dear," Zevran says softly, flicking a warning look at Marian. "So I had meant to ask, Hawke wasn't able to give a full briefing on the particulars of this little trip. Would you perhaps be able to fill in any blanks, Carver?" he asks brightly, his tone subtly coaxing._ _

__Carver looks like he's about to argue, but a look from Marian stops him. With a sigh, he begins filling them in on the mission._ _

__~*~_ _

__Marian sticks to Carver's side like glue for the next couple of days, to the point of ignoring Zevran -- which gives him time to get up to mischief. Unfortunately for her, Carver doesn't seem to get the memo that she's protecting him. When they're set upon by raiders, he actually shoves her behind him so he can protect her from a Kender wielding a club._ _

__What's weirder is that Marian lets him. Not only does she not argue with his trying to protect her, she's less effective than Zevran's seen her in the Underdark. It takes him much of the battle to put his finger on it -- while she's using everything he taught her, she doesn't use her signature technique of spellcasting mid-combat. That's strange..._ _

__Zevran studies the dagger he'd scavenged from the last fight- he never carries around weapons for long, always using whatever's at hand at any given fight- intently. Or well, seems to. He's also mulling over his progress- he's behind Isabela by two, but with the handicap they'd decided on due to the majority of the caravan being male, he's still three ahead in score- and studying Hawke._ _

__Carver is discussing something with the head of the caravan guards, which means this is likely his best chance. Sliding up behind her, he gently slips a hand on her hip and whispers in her ear, "you seem to have gotten a graze there, perhaps I could kiss it better for you?"_ _

__Marian giggles, blushing for a second. "Not in front of Carver," she scolds, for probably the dozenth time. "But I'm sure when we get back to Nyra I'll have all sorts of hurts you can soothe," she adds in a lower voice, upon seeing that he's off talking to someone and not paying her any mind._ _

__"My lady, I am the sole of discretion," Zevran protests, his far too clever hand kneading gently. "You have not seen nor heard of any my antics on the trip as yet, have you not? Nor Isabel's for that matter."_ _

__"I, however, am not," she fires back. "As you well know."_ _

__"Oh my yes. So does Merrill, Wynne and to his everlasting horror, Varric," Zevran says with a snort of laughter._ _

__Marian groans. "Ugh, I really owe that dwarf better..."_ _

__"The look on his face... you and Merrill were still at it, I had gone -- naked -- to get us some water when he opened the front door. Just as you, ah, vocalized your ascent?" He snickers. "He stared at me, turned a sickly pale green and just backed out of the house. Didn't even answer when I asked if was interested."_ _

__"Zevran!" She tries to sound scolding, really she does, but it's just so funny to imagine... she doubles over laughing, the first time she's let loose like this in days._ _

__"He still won't look at me anywhere but a few inches over my shoulder," he continues. "Which is a feat, given that he's a dwarf." He waits for her to stop dying before asking idly, "so why keep your magic a secret?"_ _

__"W-what!" She practically chokes on a chuckle. "Not so loud," she hisses. "I'm not keeping it a secret."_ _

__Zevran looks at her brightly. "Not like that you're not," he agrees._ _

___Fuck._ "Look. I'm not ashamed of who I am or anything, not anymore. But Carver... doesn't feel the same way. And--" Gods help me. "Last time we talked about magic, he stabbed me. In the guts. With a sword."_ _

__"You know, I think Varric has mentioned that before. Once or twice," he replies gravely. "Every five minutes during out talk about this trip. And then some ten times the morning before we left."_ _

__"Yes, well-- wait. You talked?" _Fuck fuck fuck.... I have got to get less meddling friends.__ _

__"Still resists my charms, sadly, but we have conversed a time or two, yes. And no, not just about our current employment," he adds._ _

__She groans. "Okay, take whatever he told you about Carver and cut it down to like, a third."_ _

__"So... he only stabbed you a third of the way into your gut? Or perhaps it was only a third of a sword? Ah, I understand... you _are_ that kind of family," he says knowingly, winking. "I still approve."_ _

__"No!" she snarls. "Oh gods. I've died and gone to the hells haven't I."_ _

__Reaching out to take her hand in his. "If you are here, my fierce Hawke, suffering shall be ever sweet upon my skin," he promises her._ _

__"Thanks," she says flatly. "Look, I'm trying to make nice with my family. This could be my shot to have some contact with them without everything going dragon-shaped. So it'd be great if you could help instead of..." She shrugs._ _

__"What better way of affirming a loving bond than by --" he breaks off, seeing her expression. "Cherie, I can tell you from personal experience that sometimes blood isn't enough. You can't change what you are and if they hate you for it, that that is simply what is. Trying... well, trying isn't bad, just don't get your hopes up," he finishes in a soft tone, eyes fair too knowing and jaded for a moment. "Hide it all you want, it'll still be there and they'll still hate you for it. Either they get over or it or you move on."_ _

__"It's not like it was," she says, earnestly. "I don't have to lie all the time, or lie to myself. I have you now, and Varric and Wynne and Merrill and Anders. I can be myself around all of you. But if I can bite my tongue long enough, I can have a brother again too. It's just a little lying every now and again. Should be fine, right?"_ _

__"You've remarked a time or two how tan my skin is compared to Merrill," he says out of nowhere. "Have you ever wondered why?"_ _

__"I... had a few guesses, yes." says Marian, quietly. "I mean, you see in the dark pretty well for a halfblood."_ _

__"Yes, I do. My own brother also noticed it. It's how he justified selling me into slavery," he says simply. With that, he dips into a bow and turns to walk away. "People can't ignore what they hate, they have to deal with it, one way or another."_ _

___Sold him into--_ Marian watches Zevran leave for a while, before turning her gaze to Carver, deep in thought._ _

__~*~_ _

__Nobody's quite sure what started the fight three nights later. One minute, Carver and Marian were having a conversation by themselves near the fire; the next minute, she slugs him in the face. He draws his sword, and she grabs her staff; this time, instead of a quick stab to the gut, she holds her own, matching him blow for blow. The fight ends rapidly; after rapping him on the temple with her staff, she somehow throws a handful of snow into his face, staggering him as he claws at it. She stands tall beside the fire, watching him stagger backward, an unseen wind tousling her hair, frost covering her staff._ _

__"Bitch," spits Carver, glaring daggers up at him._ _

__"Would-be kinslayer," she snarls._ _

__"Oh, that's fucking rich, coming from the one who let Bethany die!"_ _

__"You stabbed me."_ _

__"I didn--"_ _

__"In The Gut."_ _

__"Come on, that--"_ _

__**"With A Sword!"** _ _

__A torrent of flame pours from her mouth toward her baby brother, who barely manages to get behind one of the wagons before it's upon him. It's an epic, wonderful sight..._ _

__but unfortunately, it gets them both fired on the spot, and they have to pay damages from their own purse before they're allowed to leave with their skins intact._ _

__~*~_ _

__Zevran whistles cheerfully; it's his turn to be up front, so he make sure to saunter carefully to keep Isabela and Marian entertained properly. "Never have I ever... caused a priest to be defrocked," he calls out._ _

__"Liar," says Marian cheerfully. "You've probably made a dozen converts to Ciren just by walking past. You just didn't know it."_ _

__"shut up." mumbles Carver, for the hundredth time._ _

__Zevran considers this, then amends his statement, "never have I ever caused a priest to be defrocked for breaking vows of celibacy with me." He puts a little extra shimmy in his next step to make up for the poorly worded challenge._ _

__"It was one time!" protests Isabela, clearly having a blast._ _

__"That counts!" he crows, falling back to allow Isabela to get in front. "Go forth and entertain us, oh wondrous booty of the deep waves."_ _

__"Never have I ever stab--"_ _

__"You can't use that more than once per game," rules Marian rapidly, looking at Carver out of the corner of her eye._ _

__"I hate you all," her brother replies._ _

__"Never have I ever sold someone a fairy sheep," crows Isabela._ _

__"OKAY NEW GAME," Marian says loudly._ _

__"Hazzah! My sweet and saucy Hawke, truth or challenge?"_ _

__"I preferred fierce," she mutters._ _

__"Hmm? Oh, I was speaking to Carver," Zevran replies._ _

__".....I hate you all." replies Carver._ _

__"We know!" Isabela groans._ _

__~*~_ _

___I could hide at Wynne's,_ Marian tells herself, staring at the outside of Varric's front door. Her hand is raised, but she can't bring herself to knock._ _

___For three weeks?_ _ _

___Or Anders' clinic... I bet you he needs part-time office work done. Or I could bunk with Aveline, I bet._ _ _

___For three weeks?_ _ _

___He's going to be so damn smug..._ _ _

__"Hawke...?" comes Varric's voice. From behind her._ _

__She hangs her head. "Hi." she mumbles. "I was going to knock eventually..."_ _

__"..." He shifts a little, then, "well, good timing actually. Got a meeting with a supplier who I'm fairly certain is stiffing me and selling the 'lost' goods under the table. Tagged Dandelion to come along already, but three is better than two. Able and willing?"_ _

__She raises her head, searching his face. _Not a snide word?_ Slowly, a grin breaks out over her face. "With your track record? I'm sure you'll need me."_ _

__He gives her a smile in reply. "Yeah, well, I assure you I led a much more boring less before I met you. Not always sure that's a good thing, but there we are." He ducks into the house for a moment to grab some papers, then steps back out. "Given she was still mopey, I gather you haven't seen Dandelion yet?"_ _

__She shakes her head. "I've just got back." A beat. "Mopey?"_ _

__"Well, for her anyway," Varric admits. "No new battle scars?" he asks lightly._ _

__"Nope. Everything went fine." She gives him her best 'totally lying to your face' smile._ _

__"You do know I can just bribe Zevran for a report?" he counters._ _

__"Only if I haven't bribed him first." She sing-songs._ _

__He starts to counter again about having deeper pockets but then shudders as where his mind predicts Marian will go to counter his counter. _No, bad thoughts, bad thoughts. Go to your happy place, Varric. Shhhhhh. Happy place.__ _

__"But really, it was... fine. I may have accidentally set a wagon on fire. But I'm not hurt." Marian grins, trying to set him at ease._ _

__"Wait, fire? Since when do you do fire?"_ _

__"I blame you." She shrugs._ _

__"I... okay, sometimes I do fire, but not _that_ often. I'm more of a shoot and maybe poison sort of dwarf," he protests. "The Flirters make it back okay too?"_ _

__"Sure. Apparently Isabela and Carver were already ac-- wait, you knew she came?"_ _

__"Noticed she went missing at the Gilder, asked around," he explains easily. " But please, do go on about her and Carver?"_ _

__"They had sex. Quite a lot of it, I understand. Loud, messy sex."_ _

__She can see Varric edit and downgrade that as he hears it. "Well, yes, it's Isabela. How did it all turn out?"_ _

__"Carver thought they were dating. Isabela disabused him of that. Zevran offered to fill in the gap." She shrugs. "So about as well as could be expected."_ _

__"Yeah, I wager he did. Literally, I put money on it- how far did Flirts get?" he asks pointedly._ _

__"Far as I know, nowhere. Carver shut him down hard day one, and seemed just as mad on the walk back. Though that might be because I set him on fire, I'm not sure."_ _

__"...worth it," Varric decides. "So, anyway, we'll meet up with Dandelion here, then head over for my surprise inspection," he adds, coming to a stop. "Oh, minor news. Gammy got arrested day before last."_ _

__" _WHAT?!_ " Marian screeches. "Varric Tethras, I can't _believe_ you! I'm out of town for a few _days_ at most -- did you move on him the _instant_ I wasn't there to protect him?!"_ _

__"What? No, this was completely not my doing!" he protests. "I swear. Okay, I may have bribed some guards to make sure his cellmate was unwashed and loudmouthed, but otherwise, it was all him. You can even double-check that with Lady Lawful." Hmmm, maybe. Aveline is hard to find a good name for..._ _

__"I will. What happened?"_ _

__"Well, strictly speaking, this is all unconfirmed -- trial isn't over yet and all -- but rumor has it his debts have been piling up. He keeps borrowing and running tabs but he's running out of new people to con into doing so. So he decided to try his hand at being a bookie. Being Gammy, that wasn't enough, so he not only went off-books, but also tried to fix the matches. Illegal summons pit-fighting," he adds._ _

__Marian lets out a frustrated groan. "What's his bail?"_ _

__Varric winces. "Two thousand gold. Almost more for his sake than not though. Evidently he forgot to make sure someone else wasn't already covering that particular ring. Said someone also took offence to Gammy rigging the fight and costing them more than a few diamonds to cover the bets that went bad on them. Lady Lawful is having to vet the guards on duty personally to ensure he stays upright and breathing."_ _

__"fffffffffff---" she starts, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. "Tell Merrill I'm sorry, but I've got to deal with this." She stops walking along with him, turning to go back toward Coalside._ _

__"Hawke, deal with what? I, ah, I arranged for your mother to be taken care of. Hired an urchin girl to help out, make sure she doesn't starve. Might have blamed Carver for it. She didn't even question it, just started making demands of the poor girl. Had to double her pay to keep her," he adds in a mutter._ _

__"For one thing, I'm going to have to stop Carver going on the warpath. He's just got back too," she points out. "For another, that's not likely to last long. I haven't... well, I wasn't exactly sending money home while we were in the Underdark, and I maybe forgot to send any since," she admits, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. "I know what Carver makes, and it ain't much."_ _

__"Then she can get a job herself," he says firmly. "She's fine. Not like Gammy pays rent and I'm making sure she stays fed so she'll live. If she wants more, she can work for it herself."_ _

__"She's my-- She gave _birth_ to me, Varric." Hey, that's new -- usually she'd have finished the first sentence._ _

__"And? Fine... but you should at least talk with Lady Lawful first. Make sure you know all the details before you wade in. And given it's still morning, she won't be in yet. Still on the eve shift," he adds._ _

__She groans again. "And Merrill would kill me if I didn't at least say hi."_ _

__Varric snorts. "More like give a soulful look and then glomp you but yeah, something like that."_ _

__"Alright, alright. But I'm talking to Aveline as soon as she's on shift, okay?"_ _

__"Like I could stop you. Delay, maybe. Stop? Not a chance," he says fondly. "Also-"_ _

__Merrill tackle-hugs Hawke from the side._ _

__"-Merrill's here," he finishes helpfully._ _

__"Gah! I missed you too, Merrill!" Once her surprise is handled, she wraps her arms around her lover and -- as payback for Varric not warning her -- kisses her vigorously._ _

__Varric bletches softly, turning away. Which is a shame, because he then misses Marian's reaction to seeing a pair of deep black eyes staring at her from around Merrill's head. She gives a muffled shriek, pulling back from Merrill as fast as she can get free. "Whathefuck!?"_ _

__The eyes widen and then vanish down and behind Merrill. Who, her kiss having been so rudely halted, stares back at Hawke with hurt eyes. "What- did I do something wrong? I'm sorry Hawke, what did-"_ _

__"Eyes, eyes behind your head, is that a rat?!" she stammers out._ _

__"Eyes?" Merrill tries to look behind her own head and- "Oh! You mean Bob! That's just Bob. I've mentioned him before, haven't?"_ _

__"No. Never."_ _

__"But I have! Remember, when your underwear all went missing that one morning, right before we left? I told you Bob took them?" Merrill says, looking perplexed. "And before that too, since the, ummm, the Underdark trip."_ _

__"Since the--- You got a second familiar? Is that what you're saying?"_ _

__"...new, yes. He's a Chuspiki," she says quickly. "Isn't he wonderful?" Bob peeks under Merrill's arm, then scurries- floats?- up so she can cuddle him to her chest. He's a giant fuzzy mouse. With a massive fanlike tail- a rudder maybe? What with the floating it evidently does. Also, there appears to be stars shining under its skin, but her old familiar- a bird of some kind- did that too._ _

__"What happened to... Chirples?" she asks, trying to come up with the horrible name Merrill picked out._ _

__"Ummm. He's.... in a better place? I hope so anyway, that's what... well, I hope he is," she says, clearly reluctant to talk about it._ _

__Varric winces, then coughs loudly. "So...hope we didn't make you wait?" he asks. Hadn't they arrived first?_ _

__Marian frowns; for a second, her eyes widen, and then she coughs into her hand. _Since the Underdark..._ "Ah, right. Surprise, I'm home early!"_ _

__"Yes!" She leans in for another kiss, careful not to smoosh Bob. "I'm glad. I don't like sleeping alone anymore." Bob murrs softly. "Well, okay, not alone, but I don't think having sex with you would be-"_ _

__Bob squeaks, then chitters in deep, rumbling basso, "stop! Please, mistress, while I enjoy our bond, such a union is not at all desired by this one. Your point is made, please continue to converse with your beloved."_ _

__"The fuck?" mutters a small, gruff voice in Dwarven._ _

__Marian takes a step back. Then another step back. "Ah. Anyway. I was just. Going. Somewhere. Else."_ _

__Merrill droops a little. "Oh. Well, you'll be over tonight? I was going to make a nice salad to go with the rosemary bread we baked yesterday, but I could smoke some fish to go with it," she asks in a hopeful voice._ _

__"No, seriously, the fuck?" repeats the small Dwarven voice, more insistently._ _

___I'm fucking this up,_ Marian thinks with a wince. "Probably. I have things to take care of today but I do want to see you, Merrill. I'm just... a little creeped out, is all."_ _

__Bob sniffs disdainfully before shifting around to give her his back. "Creeped out? By what?" she asks, confused."_ _

__Snapping out of his own reaction, Varric throws Marian a lifeline. "Sorry to cut this short but we need to get going. You two can catch up tonight."_ _

__"Right," says Marian, planting a kiss on Merrill's cheek. "Catch up soon."_ _

__Merrill seems placated by the kiss, though still a little puzzled. Then again, she often wears that expression. Varric gives Marian a nods, and then they're off, leaving Marian to the rest of her morning and afternoon._ _

__~*~_ _

__By the time she shows up in Aveline's office, Marian looks entirely exhausted. Her smile seems faker by the minute, and she carries herself with a bone-deep resignation. Still, she pretends everything's fine as she knocks on the doorframe of the open door. "Good afternoon, guardswoman."_ _

__"Hawke?" Aveline says with surprise, her expression then shifting to wariness and resignation. She looks... worn. Oh, not her herself. There's no bags under her eyes or bleariness to be seen, but her uniform is less than crisp and her hair has started to fight its way out of the tight braid she always keeps it in, exposing glimpses of the spiked strip she hides in it._ _

__"You doing alright?" she asks, frowning with a slight hint of concern. _She might not be Merrill, but I really ought to spend more time with Aveline.__ _

__She stiffens, her back snapping straight, then she sighs a little. Waving her inside, she waits for Marian to close the door to her office before giving her a rueful look. "Do I really look that bad?" she asks tiredly, wondering if she needs to hit herself with another rush of healing energy._ _

__"Not if I didn't know you. You may want to adjust your braid," she adds, running a hand through her own short hair. "It's why I cut mine off."_ _

__Aveline frowns, reaching back carefully. "Blast," she mutters, slowing working the braid loose so she can redo it. Her long hair is pretty much the only nod to femininity she allows on the job, so she's loathe to cut it as Marian suggests but sometimes... "It's been a long... four days, now I think." She tenses a little, giving Marian a careful look. "Not sure how you heard about it... weren't you off on a job?"_ _

__"I just got back into town this morning." She takes a deep breath, then sits, deliberately putting herself on Aveline's level. "Do you remember when we first met?" she asks, carefully._ _

__"I'm tired, Hawke, not dying," she says dryly._ _

__Marian rolls her eyes. "Seriously. I was a nervous, flighty little thing, and I don't believe I ever told you much of why."_ _

__"I figured you were just scared of the big bad guard," Aveline quips lightly, still working on her braid. "I've heard rumors about the one that caught you. Real hardass, heartless bitch sort." That... wasn't entirely a joke, not with that thread of bitterness winding through it._ _

__Marian abandons her conversation at once. "Sure, totally heartless. Also stunningly beautiful, so that made it impossible to think straight. Fearless, imposing, and immune to my bullshit. I wonder what ever became of her?"_ _

__"Hawke!" Aveline exclaims, face reddening a trace. Freeing one hand, she stabs a finger at Marian. "You've been spending far too much time with that silver-tongued elf friend of your's." Strangely, Marian doesn't pick up any sense she was offended, just flustered. And... perhaps a little pleased?_ _

__"Maybe," she agrees. "But unlike him, I meant every word."_ _

__"Hawke..." This time the word is... a warning or perhaps a caution. She returns to working on the braid, her face growing serious again. "What did you need? she asks, clearly putting that line of talk to rest._ _

__She sighs, sitting back. "Gamlen." Even just the name feels slimy in her mouth._ _

__Aveline nods. "I have three guards I can be absolutely sure won't take a bribe or allow themselves to be tricked away. I can't keep them all on his duty all the time, so I've had to fill the gaps myself. He will make it to trial and afterwards, the... people he's offended will lose interest, I'm sure."_ _

___Good to know._ She sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It pains me to say it, but I've come about his bail."_ _

__"I would _strongly_ suggest you not pay it," she says instantly. "Right now, he's not so much in jail as in protective custody. If he gets released, he won't last a week,"_ _

__"I can have two guards on him at all times, taking turns sleeping," she points out. "I can also afford to expedite the trial or, if you suggest, pay off some of the more insistent creditors, depending on the sums."_ _

__"Hawke, no. Let the guard -- let _me_ \-- do their jobs." Her frown deepens. "As for his debts... well, none of them are official He's long since been black-listed by every reputable lender in Nyra. So I can't recommend you pursue that course of action." She glances to the side as she finishes with her rebraiding. "...but if you were to happen to stumble over and pass on any arrestable intel on Garza Nucwell or his associates, then that might serve you well."_ _

__She nods. "I'll put the word out. Strictly above-board, of course." She pauses, then adds, "Thank you," in a softer tone._ _

__"...just looking out for my own," Aveline says in a low voice, almost sounding like she's quoting someone?_ _

__Straightening, she clears her throat. "Anyway, just so you know, his bail is currently at three thousand. He clearly cant pay it so he'll be safe until things are worked out."_ _

__"Three?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. _Varric said two, and it's not like him to have bad information.__ _

__"He attempted to bribe a guard for his release last night. Then threw his bedpan at another this morning when informed attempted corruption of the guard was added to his offences," she says tiredly._ _

__She winces. "If it was just me, I'd tell you to pull the guards off him and let him rot."_ _

__Glad Marian hadn't pressed for details, Aveline just smiles faintly. "You're a good person, Hawke. And a better daughter or niece than they deserve."_ _

__Hawke flinches, looks guilty; it's only for a moment, then she shakes her head. "You know me, I'm the black sheep of the family."_ _

__"Given the family in question, that's a damn fine thing to be," Aveline replies says in her 'I am righteous authority, do not deny or gainsay me' voice._ _

__"Unless you know something I don't, it's just Gamlen that's crossed the law."_ _

__"Carver has had a few warnings -- bar-fights and not peace-bonding his blade the once -- but nothing that required time," she admits. "But, despite what some may say, I do think of more than just laws. Care about more than just laws."_ _

__"Carver's fine." Marian waves a hand. "You won't find trouble from him, I'm sure." She barely manages to avoid wincing as she hears Varric's voice in her head: _He **stabbed** you in the **gut** with a **sword**!__ _

__"I think you're too kind with your judgement of him," the guardswoman replies, then gives Marian a long look. ",,,if you want, I was planning on breaking for lunch in... twenty minutes or so," she offers, perhaps a touch stiffly, a touch awkwardly._ _

__The half-elf smiles. "Sounds like a date."_ _

__Aveline just grunts and looks back towards her paperwork, but... is that a slight bit of read on her ears? Forty minutes latter- but of course someone had to ask her a few questions on her way out- the pair are at a nearby cafe. It's very much not a popular choice for the guard and Avelines does look out of place but Marian loves their bread. They add herbs to it, very nice really, great for sandwiches._ _

__"So... how did you found out about... your uncle's recent doings? I can't imagine it's important enough to spread outside Nyra."_ _

__"I have contacts," Marian says, shrugging. "I got back into town and that was the first bit of news I heard."_ _

___So, Varric._ Makes sense -- not as if she hadn't noticed his fingers on the cellmate selection. No proof of course, but she'd noticed. "I thought you were supposed to be away for longer. At last, that's the impression I got from Miss Wynne." She shrugs. "...am I going to need to order two sandwiches from this place or so they serve normal amounts of food?" she asks, looking over the menu suspiciously._ _

__"They do, but I'll split some potatoes with you. And, I was, but things got cancelled at the last minute, so I came back."_ _

__"Good," Aveline mutters. "Up to anything right now then? I might be able to use a hand, if you still remember how to do honest work," she asks, quickly offering a smile to try and avoid offending._ _

__"Ha! What have you got for me? I could use the coin to support my wicked, wicked lifestyle."_ _

__"Paperwork of course," she says with a smirk. "Always paperwork. But if you think you can stomach a shift or two of cell watch..." She hesitates, then adds, "just... keep that quiet. if you do. I really shouldn't have you watching family but...." She looks the menu over carefully. "I trust you. Is the smoked ham any good? I hate a dry ham,"_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the gut! With a sword! 
> 
> Well they had to find _something_ in the Deep Roads, after all, and Lyrium isn't a thing in Pathfinder.
> 
> The line in the opening about meeting someone years later was a reference to the campaign this was originally backstory for; my character there is a half-drow Vigilante with amazing stealth powers. I left it in because it contrasted well with the following sentence nicely.


	6. The Dog Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian and Aveline circle around the topic of their feelings about each other, while the Dog Lords try to take over Coalside.

Marian's leaning on Anders' counter, chatting with him amicably (and flirting shamelessly), when the door slams open. Two men help support a third -- a man who looks to have been savaged by a wild animal, barely on his feet. Anders slams into action at once, leaving Marian to get the story out of his friends.

"Twas the Dog Lords, ma'am."

"What's a Dog Lord? And more importantly, since when am I a ma'am? Marian Hawke." She sticks out her hand to shake, but the man ignores it.

"Tucker. The Dog Lords moved in a while back, they're taking over Coalside. Nasty blokes."

"Can't have that," she says, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Where do I find them?"

"All about. You can see them with those big, mean fighting dogs."

"Got it. Where were you when this happened?"

~*~

After affirming that Aveline does not hate dogs, is not afraid of dogs, and has a weapon that can take them down without killing the poor bastards, Hawke and Anders drag her down to Coalside with them. "Act harmless. Maybe we can lure them out," Hawke suggests.

"Here puppy puppy," calls Anders, whistling.

"Not that harmless."

"Hawke, I'm in full plate and have a shield bigger than your torso," Aveline says dryly. "I am incapable of not looking ready for a fight."

"Why do I bring you two anywhere?" she wonders aloud.

"You can't heal worth anything and you think a stick is a weapon," points out Anders.

Aveline gives Anders a slight frown. She's not met him before today and she's not entirely sure what her impression of him is. He evidently runs a free clinic, which is laudable. On the other hand, he seems... off somehow. Well, she'll see.

"Perhaps a different plan. Although first I'd have to know what we're here for. Exactly. 'Some people with dogs attacked a man' is a great deal to work with."

"Gang violence is a worthy cause," Hawke counters.

"You know, the gangs are a reflection of the severe class imbalance in Nyra," Anders points out. "You might take down one gang or two here and there, but the real root of the issue is the uneven distribution of wealth. It--"

"We know," groans Hawke.

Aveline lifts an eyebrow at Marian, silently asking what that was about. "I didn't dispute that, Hawke, I just asked for more information," she says out loud. "Wait. People with dogs. Hawke, you trying to start a turf war with the Dog Lords with just the three of us?"

"Yes?" she asks, cautiously, as if questioning whether that's the right answer Aveline's hoping for.

"Hawke." Drat, wrong answer.

"Look, how bad could they be? So they have dogs, so what?" _Hey, is that growling?_

~*~

"Fuck these dogs," pants Marian, falling backward onto the street beside the corpse of the latest pup. She can barely move her left arm, and her tunic is absolutely filthy with her own blood. Plus one of them tried to run off with her staff. She'll need that back, eventually.

"Not... dogs. Mabari," Aveline pants slightly. Glancing over, she sees Marian clutching her arm and staggers over to heal it. Anders is rather busy trying to coax his leg to not bleed so much at the moment.

As she guides divine energies into Marian's body, she asks in a very low voice. "What in the name of Aldis is that _thing_ Anders summoned?"

"No idea," she pants. "Ow."

Anders turns to look at them once his leg has finished healing. Behind him, the tall, insectoid monster appraises them with cold, faceted eyes. The monster is vaguely translucent, with a bit of glow around the edges, marking it as not physically present -- but then, the fact that it appeared out of nowhere mid-battle seems to make that likely as well. "This is my... friend. I call him Justice."

"Oh god." moans Hawke. "There's two of them."

"Two of what, Hawke?" Aveline demands softly, looking around warily. Three of those mabari, though two of them not full-grown, were bad enough, getting ambushed by more now would be... bad. At least their handlers were just common thugs really.

"Two Merrills."

Anders bows to his spirit, who bows back before glowing faintly orange and vanishing, with the air of a ritual.

Aveline frowns. Merrill can summon a... ghost-thing? A ghost thing that feels gives off a feeling of fatalism? Which, combined with more than one jibe or remark about the 'terrible yoke of the entitled oppressors' is more than a little worrying... "Right, well, I think we might want to withdraw for the day. You're exhausted and I don't have much more healing left in me," she says, louder.

"Damn. Yeah. Tomorrow, then."

Marian climbs to her feet, prying her staff out of the mouth of the dead canine who decided to play fucking fetch with it, and starts toward Meadow. "Same time?"

"I'll walk you home," Aveline with a worried look. "Will you be fine, Anders?"

"Of course. I have Justice on my side." He smiles, a strange, lopsided smile. "Have a good evening."

Marian doesn't talk much for the first few blocks, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Healing or not, she's lightheaded and exhausted. _Did I forget to eat lunch today? Huh._

"...how exactly did you met this Anders?" Aveline asks carefully,

"Clinic," she says, tiredly. "He's a good guy, under all the bullshit."

"...was he aware that I'm a guard officer?" she asks.

Marian shrugs. "Probably not. It wouldn't matter, though. He says that to everyone."

"...alright, I'll make a note of his name," she says with a sigh. She glances at Marian, then huffs. "Hawke, here, lean on me," she says gruffly, moving to put an arm around the younger woman,

"He's not all wrong," she says, as she moves to lean on Aveline. "Obviously the violence bit is too far, but I think he talks a big game to make people listen."

"Perhaps. But even a demon can tell the truth and an angel lie," Aveline replies. "Still, I'll judge him for his actions, not just his words." She glances at Marian, trying to decide if she should...

Marian flashes Aveline a tired smile when she catches her eye. The guard sighs. "You're moving pretty stiffly and I'm almost out of healing," (and like most paladins, she's reluctant to use that last few dregs on anything but a fatal wound) "plus you're covered in blood, which is getting a fair amount of attention." Which is very true, they're both getting a few glances. Still, she's going somewhere with this: "My place is closer than yours, do you want -- I mean, you could get cleaned off and rest a bit. If you think you need to," she adds quickly. _Gods, I'm sorts of awkward about this, aren't I?_

Marian's smile turns into a real, broad one. "Thank you so much. I really hate to worry Varric by showing up like this."

Aveline offers a still awkward but clearly relieved smile. Kind of weird, except that she thinks about, other than her, who does Aveline hang out with? Actually, does Aveline even 'hang out' with anyone? She doesn't seem the 'hang out' type. Which is also a touch sad.

~*~

Aveline's house is... so very much not at all what Hawke was expecting. A trim little building reminiscent of a cottage, with a small flowerbed filled with brightly colored daisies, a bird feeder hanging from a pole and a small statue of a sleeping cat near the door. The yard is keep neat, though it could use a trim in the next few days, and the house itself is a pale blue color. As for herself, Aveline keeps a blank face as she leads Marian up the walk to the door.

"Cute," Marian says, blithely. "Varric's nowhere near this good a homemaker."

Aveline's jaw twitches slightly. "Just a moment," she replies, ignoring the commentary as she unlocks the door. The inside is also welcoming and, yes, cute. Soft, warm colors for the most part, with softer rugs and warmer atmosphere. It's a bit empty though- the house seems a bit much for a single person. Not overly so, just a little. Aveline steps away from Mariran and gestures down the hall. "Bath is just through there, if you want one. Hot water takes a bit to kick in, so give it a moment. I can loan you a robe if you finish before I'm done with your clothes," she says briskly.

"Thanks, you're sweet," says Marian, heading to take the aforementioned bath. When she's done, she comes out wrapped in Aveline's robe, looking much refreshed. "You're amazing. Thank you so much," she says, heedless of the fact she's wearing so little. At least it's closed.

Aveline has gotten changed as well while Marian was in the bath. For once, she's out of her armour and wearing a simple tunic and leggings. She looks good in it but also a little strange., given how rare it is for Marian to see her out of uniform. And her hair is down and loose, her feet bare. She looks... normal. She glances over from where she's making some tea and then jerks her head back to what she's doing. "Your tie is loose," she says shortly. It's not really. Though she's showing a touch more cleavage and leg than she has to, strictly speaking. Still, just them girls here, right?

"Is it?" asks Marian, making no move to fix it.

_Why did I think this was a good idea? To bring her... here. **Her.**_ "Never mind," she says with a huff. "Are you hungry?" she asks, setting an empty mug in front of Marian. "Tea'll be a bit."

"Food would be lovely. I think I forgot to eat lunch again," she adds, sheepishly. She moves to sit at the table, without trying to press the advantage or 'accidentally' flash Aveline or... anything, other than having a seat.

"I... might have something for a meal," Aveline says, thinking it over. "I don't really keep much on hand," she mutters, more to herself as she turns to poke around in her cabinets. "You know, I've never asked. Is there anything you don't eat? I've seen you eat meat..."

"Not a big fan of entrails, personally, but that's about it." She shrugs.

"I... I don't have any entrails on hand, I'm sure of that," she says, pausing a moment to consider the idea of it. "I have some hardtack. And... some rice. Oh, and some bea- never mind." She says, pulling out a bag of beans with a scowl. Stupid... mildew. "I have some jam and honey as well. And I should have milk. That I keep, for my tea. Oh, and I think I have some rye bread I bought... a few days ago?"

"I take it you don't cook much, then?" she says, wryly.

"Don't... live here much, to be honest," she admits with a sigh. "this was... we- this house was bought a long time ago, when... I thought my life was going to be something else."

Marian makes a small, soft noise. "That's sad," she says, taking a page out of Merrill's book.

Aveline looks down, busying herself with taking out the rice and tossing the beans. "I'll get this cooking. Do you want some toast with jam or honey for now?" she asks after a moment.

"Sure, that sounds lovely." She stretches, stifling a yawn. "Varric won't miss me for some hours yet."

"You're very lucky to have someone to miss you," she says softly, boiling some water by... igniting her hand and holding it next to the pot in addition to user the stove normally. Just for a few seconds, but still, it clearly sped things up. "Spices are limited- salt, peppercorn, culi spice or dried basil."

_A magical ring? A latent talent?_ Marian decides the fire trick isn't important righ tnow. "I didn't always. I had to find him, and keep him when I did," she says, quietly, her gaze still intent on Aveline.

"Keep him..." she repeats bitterly. "Yes, that is important," she agrees. "Do you have a spice preference? I normally just go with hot. It's simple and the spices last forever." She's gotten out the bread, tested it for staleness- a bit hard, but edible enough- and is focusing on slicing it up for them as a pan heats.

"I rarely eat hot foods, I'm still working on my tolerance," she admits. She's still looking at Aveline, with a kind, sad expression.

And Aveline is still carefully not looking at Marian. "I'll go with salt and basil, light on the culi powder then." Bread cut, she gives it a quick sear. That done, she brings over a plateful and the jam and honey if she wants it.

As she leans down to set the plate down in front of Marian, the half-elf spots a necklace. Normally, it's covered by, you know, Aveline's full plate being full coverage and all. But her leaning over and change of clothes causes it to slip out a little, revealing a thin gold ring on it. "That's pretty," she comments, trying to sound cavalier.

"Hawke, my breasts are not--" she cuts off suddenly, having glanced down and noticed the ring having slipped out. She drops the plate with a clatter, though thankfully it was only a couple of inches off at the time, and shoves the ring back under her tunic. "Eat," she barks, spinning around, though not fast enough to prevent Marian from seeing deep grief and then anger rush over her face.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says, in elven, her tone still quiet.

Aveline's shoulders hunch a little as she tries to glare the rice into cooking faster. It's a full minute before she finally mutters, "thank you."

"My sister died when we left Golden Shores, in the tragedy," she continues. "It was-- it is, hard, sometimes, to remember that I'll never see her again."

_Yes, I know,_ she thinks. _I've been in the same room as Leandra for more than a minute._ But, despite her current upset, Marian is her... _friend_ , and she's not going to treat her loss like that. "It's worse when- when you start to get used to it. He... six years doesn't seem nearly long enough to..."

_That would have made her twenty at the time._ Marian whistles. "Six years... I can't imagine that far into the future."

"One day, then one week, one year, and then.... you just keep living." The kettle whistles. She ignores it for a moment, then finally takes it off the heat to pour for them both. She doesn't make eye contact, but she's at least looking in Marian's general direction.

"Truth," she agrees. "Sometimes it's harder than others."

Aveline is quiet for a moment, Finally, she lets out a long, almost angry sigh. "I'm attracted to you," she says bluntly. "I don't-- I'm not okay with it. You're too young for, for that. For me. And it feels wrong, to... to want someone, to like someone that isn't Wesley. I'm sorry if that makes me short with you. It's nothing -- it's not your fault, how I feel." She curses softly, sharply. "I shouldn't have said anything, forget-- just forget this. Eat some damn bread."

"Is that why?" Marian gives a small laugh. "Here I was worried it was me." She looks at the bread for a bit, lost in thought. Finally, she says, "I know I'm young. I can't help that. But... it seems to me that... loving someone doesn't diminish the love you feel for someone else. I mean, loving Varric the way I do doesn't make me love Merrill less. The... whatever it is between me and Zevran doesn't change one whit about how I feel about Wynne. It's not all the same kind of love, but... I don't know if I'm making any sense?"

"I said--" she scoffs. "Why did I think you of all people would drop something?" She glares at Marian but there's more affection than heat to it.

"Because you're afraid," she says, quietly. "But I don't know that there's cause to be."

Aveline's mouth snaps shut and her glare shifts to shock. After a few moments to collect herself, she gives a short laugh. "Maybe not as young as I thought," she allows. "You're growing up faster than I realized."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day is her regular lesson with Wynne. As time's gone on, she's started coming less often, but still regularly; she's still learning, as much as it pains her to admit it, and she's getting a lot out of their sessions. This week, however, she's pensive, almost broody. She has to be scolded on her focus twice, and still is caught daydreaming.

"Merrill, go ahead and work outside with your garden, I need to have a talk with Miss Marian," Wynne says, eyes narrowed and locked on the young half-elf. Merrill gives Marian an apologetic look, but scampers away to freedom.

Said half-elf ducks her head. "Sorry, Wynne, I really am just tired."

"Something on your mind then?" her teacher asks, voice noticeably more gentle.

"So many things," she murmurs. "For starters -- what do you know about Merrill's new familiar?"

"Bob?I helped her perform the Entreaty Rite that ended up calling him." Wynne smiles faintly. "Aside from his... poor grasp on personal property laws, he seems to be working out fairly well."

"Was it-- no, sorry, that's a silly, selfish question." Marian blushes faintly.

"Who better to ask silly questions of than a teacher? Far better than asking the world. We only grade you," she says easily. "Ask,"

"Was it... my fault? What happened to Chirples?" Hawke's voice is quiet, her tone oddly flat.

_Ah._ "Chirples was... getting old, even before Merrill met you. Dying as he did, serving his mistress and keeping her safe, was a good end to his life," she says carefully. "Your expedition was going to have been attacked by that tribe regardless. Perhaps Chirples would have lived, had you been awake and the timing different. But perhaps, less wound up, Varric wouldn't have noticed as early as he did. Perhaps the ambush would have worked and more than a single familiar lost. What if's are dangerous things."

"Only?" she asks, quietly. "Nobody else?"

"Some wounded, but no deaths," Wynne confirms. "And I believe Isabela ruined her shoes," she adds with an amused smile.

Some of the tension flows out of Marian's shoulders, but she laughs. "Oh, well, that's the greatest tragedy of all."

"So she made it out to be," Wynne says dryly, still smiling. "Was that all that was bothering you? You implied there was more."

"Merrill's magic... isn't like mine, is it?"

"No, her power is closer to the divine, though it draws from a more... communal source, rather than a specific patron," Wynne explains. She pauses, then, "but I suspect you might not be referring to that aspect?"

"She hears things, talks to things. Are they real things? Are they dangerous?"

"Mostly yes and mostly no," she says with a sigh. "And neither of those are as simple as they first sound. All of the things she speaks to, speaks with are... they exist, by most definitions. Some might dispute that they are 'real' however." She pauses, giving Marian her 'are you following' look.

Marian gives her a blank look in response. "Huh?"

"Of course. I'll try again. Merrill is a shaman, a spirit talker. So of those spirits are of objects or places. For instance, her primary spirit is that of the Heavens, the starlit sky, whom she calls... Twinkles." Wynne doesn't say it of course, being the refined and elegant woman that she is, but Marian can still hear 'because Merrill' loud and clear in the pause. "Others, however, are more nebulous, that Elderite, which is what she calls the spirit born of the concept of ancestral heritage or tradition. What is debatable is whether these spirits are true beings or if her conversations are simply how her mortal mind processes the information these spirits can give her. That has been a matter of contention for centuries. Regardless, they are commonly accepted as either passive or benign, provided they are not in service of a shaman who wishes to harm you, of course."

"Alright, that sounds.... very Merrilll," Hawke allows. "But it's not something to be concerned about?"

"It is not. Merrill has her own personal approach, of course, but she is, for the most part, a perfectly ordinary shaman in this regard," Wynne says firmly. "I'm a spiritualist, not a shaman, but I did make sure to speak with a few shamans to ensure I knew what to expect. Most shamans do not... name the spirits they speak with, nor do they have... chats or small-talk with them as a rule, but there's nothing dangerous about doing so."

Marian nods. "And Bob? He seems... to dislike me."

Wynne coughs a little, recalling a strangely similar conversation she had a fair time ago with Bob... "He... well, as I understand it, his first encounter with you was... not the best. He was there when... the gem tried to trick you into recovering it. It did not give the best first impression."

"Oh," she says, quietly. "I don't-- I don't remember a lot of that night, Wynne." She hesitates, then asks, "should I be concerned about that?"

"It is generally considered a bad thing to be unable to recollect one's actions, yes." Wynne stares a moment. "What _do_ you recall?"

"I remember..." _Varric was dead._ A flash of guilt and pain crosses her face. "I remember why. I remember making the decision. I... I remember Merrill. It was like a dream, all of it."

"In a way, I suppose it could be considered such. A waking dream, of sorts. Or waking nightmare rather," Wynne says quietly.

"But I'm cured now, right? I mean, it hasn't come back." She looks nervous, chewing on her lower lip.

"Such a thing as you suffered always leaves a mark. A scar, and one that... can either harden you to further such attempts or leave a weakness instead. Given how it was able to make a second attempt, it appears to be the later," she explains, voice kind but firm.

"So I'm weak to-- to demonic possession?" Usually, when her voice becomes this quiet, it's out of compassion, or respect. Now, it's pure fear, her voice strained.

"To this particular one," Wynne clarifies. "Not in general. And as a note, I've determined it's not a demon, but rather a daemon. More capable of planning than demons but less creative. More flexible than devils but less cable of working with others, even if needed to accomplish their goals. Still very evil, of course."

Marian had been taught well; she knew of the three kinds of evil extraplanar beings, the demons, daemons, and devils. At this moment, she doesn't find she cares. "I-- I see." she mumbles. "Are you... ashamed of me? For..."

"Given the power of the entity in that accursed thing? I highly doubt it was entirely your own idea to pick it up in the first place," Wynne says firmly. "I doubt Varric would have fared much better, to be honest, if he'd come across it unprepared." The teacher pauses, then admits, "and I fear Merrill would have succumbed even more deeply than you did. She... has difficulty understanding how dangerous outsiders and other... non-mortal entities can be. She is so very curious about them, much to my concern."

She nods. "I'll try to talk to her, but I... I can only hope she doesn't get hurt too badly."

"Please do. Perhaps if she hears it from someone other than her teacher, from her beloved Hawke no less, it will sink in a little deeper," she says a touch wearily. Then hesitates. "Actually... if you do, try not to come off too... hostile to the idea, but rather just worried it might go poorly. I fear she will attempt to enact a communion eventually, but if she isn't worried that you'll force her to stop, perhaps she might at least allow you along." Wynne gives Marian a slight smile. "Out of all non-mortal entities, the sort that interests her most are also the sort I judge you least likely to be taken in by, if only because you lack the... overly philosophical nature required to even understand them, much less try to barter or converse with them. Well, without being at least slightly touched."

Hawke blinks. "You make me sound stupid," she points out. "But, I think I see your point. I'm not Merrill, and I know where that path can end up." She shudders, remembering Bethany. "I'll try."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Aveline, this is Isabela, and you remember Merrill, right? Merrill, did you meet Anders?" Marian smiles her biggest, fakest, 'go team go' smile as she completes introductions. "Come on, let's kick some puppy behind!"

"Don't do that. I don't think anyone likes Cheery Hawke." comments Anders.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring Varric," comments Isabela. "Aren't you two joined at the hip these days?"

"He had plans." Marian tries to keep things light and cheery; better not to discuss why she hadn't asked him. "I figure we can handle ourselves, right ladies? And Anders?"

Aveline gives the new and expanded group a look over and then gives Marian a slightly exasperated look. Moving to the half-elf and pulling her a little aside, she demands in a whisper, "don't you know _any_ respectable people besides Wynne?"

"Merrill's entirely respectable," protests Marian.

Aveline stares. "Public nudity, vagrancy, twenty-eight accounts of theft and vandalism, and trespassing in a Guiding Light's garden because 'it was lonely and wanted to chat.' In her defense, she's always been cooperative when arrested."

_Huh. Is that... fondness in the guard woman's voice?_ "She's a different kind of respectable," Marian points out. "Not a smuggler or anything like that. She's just making honest mistakes."

Aveline gives a look but nods slightly. "suppose that's fair... not that the owner of the pet store is likely to ever agree," she adds wryly. Stepping back, she says louder, "anyway, thank you for clearing that up Hawke. What's the plan for this outing?"

Marian digs in her backpack, holding up a small cloth sack. "I've got a couple surprises in here." She opens the top enough to reveal the glint of caltrops. "Who wants this one?"

"...that's not a plan, that's a tactic at best Hawke," Aveline says, not looking terribly interested in caltrops.

"Enough tactics add up to a plan," she says, handing the caltrops to Anders and pulling out a thin cotton net for herself.

"No, they-- by plan I mean please tell me we're doing more than just wandering around waiting to be attacked," Aveline nearly pleads.

"We're wandering around until we get attacked, keeping one of the humans alive, and interrogating him as to the location of their hideout," Marian confirms.

_Okay, that's... at least more of a plan than I expected. It would never work if Hawke wasn't Hawke, with all that implies and entails, but still better than I'd feared Hawke was about to say._ "And then I can gather the guard for a raid," she says, nodding. "That's actually not a bad plan."

"Orrr-- hear me out -- oor, we maybe sneak up on their hideout and ambush them ourselves and then just claim a bounty from the guard." Marian gives a sly grin.

"Hawke." That one means both 'no' and 'I'm scolding you.'

"I'm just saying, nobody ever got rich letting the guard take the credit."

"Hawke." This is 'your plan will kill us all.' Or possibly, 'you're being stubborn.' Those two are similar for some reason.

Marian turns to survey her backup. Isabela shrugs. "You only die once," the pirate wench says, casually, taking another bag of caltrops from Hawke.

Anders stares at her. "You must be joking."

Marian shrugs. "Merrill? You get me, right?"

Merrill blinks, turning away from the side of a building she's been making faces at. "I'm sorry, I was talking to Nyrite, did you say something Hawke?"

Aveline sighs a little. "Why do I agree to your favors, Hawke? Fine, we'll wander around like fools until we're attacked by conveniently knowledgeable thugs and then, after we've questioned said thug in a legal manner, we'll discus whether it's feasible for the five of us to invade a major gang lair by ourselves."

"Nine," Merrill corrects Aveline. "Hawke, you, Isabela, Anders, his spirit friend, Bob, Nyrite, Twinkles and me."

"Play along," Marian mouths at Aveline.

Anders blinks. "You speak with spirits?"

"I'm a shaman," Merrill says happily. "Twinkles is my bonded spirit- but that doesn't mean I don't like Nyrite!" she says quickly, giving the dirty, crumbling wall next to her a fond pat.

"Hawke?" Now Aveline means 'are you sure she's okay?' But in a worried sort of way, not a wary one.

A fuzzy ball of plump fur gently lands on Merrill's shoulder. "And I am Bob, her familiar," Bob declares in his rich baritone, inspecting the shiny earring in his hand closely.

Anders gives a respectful bow to Bob. "Pleased to meet all three of you. I have so many questions -- do you, too, chafe at the restrictions placed upon you by this cruel, disproportionate system of wealth distribution?"

Merrill blinks a few times. "I don't understand what you just said," she replies after nearly a minute of thought. Bob snickers before tucking away the earring into Merrill's bag.

Anders smiles. "Let me speak to you about society--"

"How about another time? You two can get tea and talk to your hearts content," cuts in Marian.

"Thank you," Aveline says in a soft but heartfelt tone.

"Alright?" Merrill says brightly, moving over towards Marian to hold hands. Bob slips off her shoulder as she moves, floating gently to the ground and then vanishing into some nearby rubbish. Sneaky little blighter. "I learned a new spell yesterday, Hawke, I can't wait to show you," she adds brightly. As she touches her lover, there's a faint swirl and for an instance, Marian can hear the babble of the busiest parts of the city, smell the rankest alley and feel the buzzing energy of the hottest, busiest nights.

Marian jumps, giving a small, adorable squeak. "Merrill! Ask first!"

"What? Oh. Oh! I'm sorry, Hawke, I just... I don't really bond with Nyrite often when we have our adventures and I forgot that- umm, it's a protective thing?" she babbles, looking ashamed of herself. Wynne's told her about asking first. So has Hawke and Varric and Zevran. Though his 'ask first' was slightly different. Not that Wynne disagreed about asking about that first too, when she brought it up. Funny look on her face though.

Marian gives her an odd look. "Merrill, do you... change... when you bond with your spirits?"

Merrill tilts her head thoughtfully. "I've never really thought about it? I mean, they all give me different things, powers and spells, so I suppose I do change, yes."

"I mean your... your personality, and your memories. Your you-ness." Marian frowns, concerned.

"Oooooh," Merrill says with an understanding nod. "I have no idea," she then adds cheerfully. Seeing Marian's expression, she adds, "I don't think I do but maybe not noticing the change is part of what's changed? If so, how could I tell? But Wynne hasn't said anything and I practice changing my secondary bond a lot. But they're all really nice, so I wouldn't mind a little change. Don't you change when you're with different friends?"

Marian starts to object that _she_ doesn't change. Then, she shuts her mouth before she says anything. She glances at Aveline, giving her an odd look. Then at Anders. Then at Merrill. "I suppose," she says, finally.

Aveline, listening to all of this, exchanges a concerned and slightly confused look with Isab- with An- okay, with the ground. She really needs to try and introduce Hawke to a guard friend. Of course, first she has to make one of her own...

"Does anyone hear that panting?" asks Isabela, innocently.

Bob suddenly zips past the group to hover behind Aveline. "I have located some of your Dog Lords for you all," he announces helpfully, completely not fooling anyone but Merrill. 'Located' Isabela's finely tone and yet deliciously soft arse.

"Oh for Vangal's sake," Aveline says with a groan, quickly readying herself for a fight.

"Wait, dogs? We're hurting dogs?" Merrill gasps, distraught. "Noble dogs?" Still distraught but also slightly curious.

"Try not to hurt them," Marian points out. "But they're pretty vicious dogs. They broke my arm yesterday." Then the dogs are upon them, and there's precious little time for talk.

~*~

"Hawke..." This one is new, but Marian is fairly certain, due to context, it means something like 'please stop your girlfriend from infusing that poor soul's shadow with malicious hunger before he dies.'

Merrill is currently kicking a thug in the leg even as his aforementioned shadow slowly leaches away his strength. "You! Are! Being! Mean! To! Your! Dogs!"

Thanks to the added numbers and prior planning (tactics, not plans), this battle had gone much better. Still a few injuries, but nothing nearly as bad as Marian's arm last time. And between Merrill, Anders and Aveline, they'd manged to avoid killing all but the most vicious of the Mabari, which is nice.

"Wait! Marian, keep him alive, we need to find out where they're keeping the other poor, helpless doggies!" Marian cries, leaning against a wall to catch her breath.

Merrill scowls, but dismisses the spell, causing the thug's shadow to revert to a normal, not life-stealing variety. She scowls down at the human, who is now so weak he can't lift himself upright thanks to his chainmail. "uuuuh," he moans pitiously.

Isabela deftly cleans her knives on the dead dog's fur, sheathing them again. Anders bows to his spirit in thanks.

Aveline, sighing, moves towards the man to start arresting him but pauses. Right, off duty and... technically part of a mercenary slash vigilante band. _What on Aldis has happened to my life?_ She glances at Marian sidelong and a smile quirks on her lips. _Well, yes, her, but still... how could one delicate-seeming half-elf change so many things so very fast?_

~*~

Battered, bruised, and quite a lot of gold richer thanks to picking the pockets of the dead, the party prepares themselves for one last push into the depths of the condemned apartment building that is the lair of the Dog Lords. Everything there smells like shit and wet fur; they expect this last room to be the worst, given the smell's increase as they get near it.

On the bright side, they don't get attacked as soon as the door opens. There's only one dog in this kennel; she's cooped up in a crate in the back, growling protectively as she curls around a litter of four tiny, damp puppies. Looks like she's given birth only a few days prior, if that.

The Mabari mother's ears suddenly twitch back as Merrill lets out a delighted _squee_. Without any hesitation (or self-preservation), she squats down to lower her profile and then shuffles forward, crooning softly all the way. She's got some dried meat in her hand -- which is strange, given she follows the typical elven diet of abstaining from mammal-based foods -- and is offering it to the mother.

Aveline had jerked forward to stop the fool, but falters as she sees the Mabari looking less tense and even faintly interested in the elf. "...Hawke, do you know if Wynne is allergic to canines?" she murmurs. "Or you and Varric, come to think of it."

Marian pinches the bridge of her nose, and says, ostensibly to Aveline but quite loudly, "I don't think we have room for a dog that big. The poor dear would be heartbroken, cooped up in a house like mine."

"Oh don't even look at me," Aveline mutters. "You've seen how small my house is."

"I don't think anyone can keep a dog that big within the city limits," says Anders. "Besides, I'm more of a cat person."

Merrill doesn't seem to hear, still busy making new friends. The mother finally takes the offered treat, which is all the allowance Merrill needs to scramble close and begin petting her. She's not reaching for the puppies yet though.

"Merrill..." groans Marian. _Crap. She's going to keep one no matter what, isn't she?_

"As long as they're registered," Aveline admits almost against her will, "they're fine. They're not even a magical breed, technically, so the forms aren't even that extensive."

"Oh, you're such a sweet girl, aren't you? Yes, you are! Those mean brutes tried to make you mean too, but you wouldn't let them, did you? Oh, such a clever, strong, beautiful girl, aren't you? And your puppies! Such adorable little puppies!"

"Best of luck, Hawke," Aveline adds in a 'better you than me' tone, clapping the magus on the back lightly.

"Fuck."

~*~

The damn dog bites Hawke no less than four times as she's trying to wrangle the pups, but she manages to get the whole crew back to Wynne's house. _Why does the dog only bite me anyway?_ Struggling to contain two wriggling puppies in a blanket, she raps on the door with her staff.

It takes a moment, but Wynne opens the door. "No."

"Bu-"

"Merrill, I said no."

Five minutes later, the entire group sans Anders and Isabela but now plus Zevran, who had been over to ask if the two ladies were interested in a night out and stayed to watch the show, had found themselves in the living room.

_"But they don't have anywhere else to live and look at how cute they are!" Merrill wheedles, off to one side._

"So I am curious, how did you come upon such beasties in the first place?" Zevran asks, studying the mother cleaning her pups after the trip.

_"Merrill, we simply don't have the room!" Wynne replies_

"Please take one," says Marian, thrusting the blanket at him. "Or well I guess agree to take one when they're weaned."

"A mabari?" Zevran asks with surprise. "And ones with such a prime mother? You have no idea of the gift you offer so eagerly, do you, my fierce Hawke?" Aveline's eyes narrow at the possessive, but she says nothing.

"Oh, I'm well aware. I was fortunate enough to see several of them up close in tip-top shape." Marian rubs at her left arm, relinquishing the last pup to the watchful mother to put with her others.

_"Oh, they can have my room. I'll sleep in the garden." Merrill continues_

_"That is not -- absolutely not!"_

Said mother snorts at Hawke before stalking away on stiff legs. "A trained mabari is considered priceless to those that favor them, but merchants often put the value as a mere thousand or so gold coins," Zevran explains. "Very effective and even more loyal. Much smarter than other breeds as well. Not human smart, perhaps, or at least not as smart as most humans, but clever."

_"But I like being outdoors anyway. I could get a tent."_

_"That isn't the point, Merril."_

Aveline frowns. "Sounds like they'd make a good guard dogs" Zevran nods with a rueful laugh. "Oh my yes. I've had more trouble evading mabari than I have had with most humanoid guards."

_"We can't just let them live on the street, Wynne, it's cruel."_

_"We can find them homes. There's a temple to--"_

_"But **this** could be their home."_

"I don't know if you caught my drift or what, but one of them broke my arm yesterday. You're welcome to take all of them if you want." Marian wrinkles her nose.

"I think perhaps my current landlords would be a bit, shall we say, testy if I surprise them with a pack of mabari," Zevran replies with a chuckle. "But perhaps I could take in one, should their mother find me acceptable."

_"I can eat less and maybe find a steady job?"_

_"I think that might still be a touch premature."_

Aveline winces at the idea of Merrill trying to be a shopgirl. Or work in an office. "Should you... step in and help Wynne?" she asks worriedly.

"She's got it," dismisses Marian, tilting her head slightly, as if listening to something. "She just has to remember she's the mentor here, and owns the house. Zevran, you know people, know anyone else who needs a dog?"

"A dog, yes. A mabari? None I would feel comfortable giving such a fine beast to, no," he says with a sigh. "Saving, of course, the fine ladies before me," he adds, winking at Aveline.

"I will break any part of your body that touches me," she informs him.

_"What if I move in with Hawke so the doggos can have my room?"_

_"Merrill, you can't just decide that on your own!"_

Hawke turns to Aveline. "What about you? Surely some of the guard have big yards, right?"

"I... don't really know much about the living conditions of the other guards," she says shortly, looking away slightly. "But I can ask around, if you want."

_"I can't?"_

_"No."_

_"Oh. Then I'll just ask her-"_

_"You can't just decide that I'll let the dogs stay here either."_

Hawke shakes her head, frowning slightly. "On that note, I'm going to sneak out the back door before Varric gets volunteered." She stands.

"I'll provide back-up," Aveline says instantly, moving to follow.

And then Merrill is glomping Ha-- Aveline. "Oh, hello? You're not Hawke."

"No, I am not," the guardswoman says with an eye roll, pulling the elf off her and aiming her at the right person.

"Hawke! Wynne said they all can't stay, which means some can so you have to help me find homes for one of them!" she babbles once she's hugging the right person.

_"That's not what I said!"_

Weird -- Marian's hand seems to be twitching, drumming on her thigh. "Merrill, they can't stay," she says, absently.

Giant eyes peer up at Marian soulfully. "No, not all of them," she admits mournfully. "But that means I can keep some of the doggos, right?"

Coming out behind Merrill from her bedroom, Wynne sighs. "One. We can make room for one of them."

"Merrill, they tried to eat me, you can't keep them." Drumming, she starts for the front door. "I gotta get home."

Aveline and Wynne both frown, almost in unison. "Hawke--" they glance at each, the guard gesturing to the healer to continue. "Are you okay? You seem... distracted."

Marian shakes her head, giving a rueful grin. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

"I... suppose it has been at that," Aveline agrees. "Come on, I'll walk you home and make sure you get to bed."

Zevran snickers a little, earning a glare. "Perhaps I can help?" he offers brightly, earning himself a death-glare.

"Not at Varric's, you can't," she teases.

~*~

A week later, Marian collapses onto the table at the pub, beside Marrill and Varric both. "Alright. Isabela's contact says he'll look after mother and pups, but he can only keep one when they're weaned, and he'd prefer the mum since he's older and the pups might actually outlive him. So if Aveline can convince the guardhouse, that's three pups and the mum taken care of. Just one more to go and then I can sleep."

Varric pats her on the back supportively. "Been really pushing yourself on this- wait, Mum-dog, Lady Lawful, Flirts and one to go. That's only three out of four. Hawke..."

Merrill grins, bouncing on her seat and clapping.

"No, I placed another pup yesterday. So that's one pup left." She lifts her head to take a long drink from her ale.

"And that didn't make your recitation because why?" he says, eyes narrowed. _She had better not mean..._

Merrill isn't helping- with her evasion or drinking both- by her leaning against her side with a happy blurble.

Marian surfaces only long enough to say "It's not important," before drinking again.

"Hawke, the last time you said that after being evasive, a ankheg ripped it's way out of my office toilet," he says flatly. Ankhegs, burrowing insectoids as large as a horse, are hardly native to even Nyra's magical plumbing system; whatever Hawke did, Varric has never wanted to know.

"...was it cute?" asks Merrill, smiling.

"Ankegs are never cute." Hawke scowls.

"Correct. Even less so when covered in fermented shit and piss. So. About that missing puppy," he presses.

"No puppies are missing. They're still at Wynne's until we get them to this guy's place."

"You know very well what I meant." Varric shoots Marian a vile glare.

Marian finishes her mug. "I appear to be out of ale. Anyone else want a refill? On me!" she says, as she gets up.

Varric kicks her foot out before she can stand, dropping her back into the seat with a thump. "Hawke, my place is not puppy-proofed. Especially not mabari puppy-proof."

"Oh, I can help with that!" Merrill sings.

"What? No, Varric, not you! Cut me some credit, I wouldn't do that to you." She shakes her head. "I don't want to live with a bloodthirsty puppy either."

"But-" Merrill puffs up with righteous indignation. "They are not bloodthirsty at all! They are cute and fuzzy and adorable and one of them does this thing when he yawns, he squeaks and it's so cute and the girl puppy, she gets all excited when..."

She continues on, full-steam babble mode, but Varric leans in towards Marian. "Give me some credit, if not our place, then where would you --" He pauses, staring at her. "You wouldn't."

Marian grins. "I really am out of ale, Varric, you know I don't talk business without ale." She tries to get up again.

He follows her this time. "Hawke, why do you do this to yourself?"

"You know why, Varric." she says, as she reaches the bar and tries to flag down the barkeep.

"I suppose I do. You really sure this is a good idea? For the pup too," he adds. When the tender arrives, he orders another round of ales and a half-bottle of whiskey. Marian doesn't reply, waiting for the drinks then helping to carry them back to the table. Varric gives her a bit to think, but as they retake their seats -- "oh, you brought more ale!" -- he mutters pointedly, "well, the pup isn't magical, I guess."

"No, it's not. And she likes dogs." _Small dogs, anyway._

"I suppose she has to like something," Varric says with a snort as they pass out the ales. Merrill beams at them as she sips at hers. Varric lets it go after that, the conversation moving on to other matters as the night goes on.

~*~

"Hawke, did you finish my whiskey?"

"I love everyone!" shouts the elf.

"Nevermind. You might want to get her before she loses more than her shoes."

"Fuck."

~*~

Marian hauls Merrill back to Wynne's place just in time for her to unleash the contents of her stomach on Wynne's front yard. "Lovely, Merrill..." says Marian, as she helps the girl inside.

"I'm sorry mister grass spirit. Please enjoy my bounty," she mumbles as she tries to grope Marian's bum.

Marian jumps. "Merrill!" she whispers, pulling the front door shut behind her. _I'll help her into bed, then go back to Varric's. I'm not taking advantage of her like this._

Taking firm advantage of the fact that Marian has to half hold her up, Merrill does all the groping. Most of it is directed at Marian's bum, but there's a goosing and a nibble on a handy tit at one point. "I have puke on my arm," she announces just as they reach Merrill's room. While her hand is down the back of Marian's leggings.

"Oh gross," Marian moans, pushing her away. "Let me get a damp rag, hang on." She shoves her roughly toward the bed, moving to the kitchen with a shudder as she passes Wynne's door. She has the rag and is dampening it, when she hears footsteps. Glancing over, she sees Merrill lightly dancing around. In her small clothes. The top of which the elf flings at Marian with a giggle.

"I win!" she announces gaily.

"Win... what? Merrill!" She hisses, rushing toward her after dunking the rag into the bucket.

Merrill giggles again and darts away. "Yay! Chase me!" she sing-songs, pert bum flashing at Marian as she flees. She is... surprisingly agile for a drunk, leading the half-elf on a merry hunt throughout the house.

At one point during all this, Marian notices that Merrill's arms are both perfectly clean. _Oh, she's gonna get it!_ When Marian finally tackles Merrill onto the lounge in the sitting room, she reaches back and swats her bum three or four times. "Hah! Take that, wicked thing," she purrs softly into Merrill's ear.

~*~

A hour later finds Merrill almost melted against Marian. They never did make to Merrill's room either, which is... crap. The lounge. _Wynne's_ lounge. As in they just, uh, had perhaps a little too much fun in Wynne's living room. On her lounge. Merrill sighs happily and nuzzles her check against Marian's belly. "I win," she murmurs. "Twice."

Marian's eyes drift closed. "Fine," she agrees, blissfully.

And blissful she remains... until she hits the floor a few hours later, woken by the jarring sensation. _Was I... asleep?_ she wonders, staring up at the ceiling. _Must have rolled off the lounge.._ Merrill mumbles incoherently from the lounge, reaching around for her warm cuddlie in her sleep. _Is Wynne even home? I'd have expected her to wake us, or at least put a blanket over us._

Her eyes widen in horror, her lips opening slightly as the images from her dreams come rushing back to her. _No..._

".... wheee, I'm a unicorn," Merrill mutters suddenly, her arms and legs moving awkwardly as if trying to swim. Or crawl. "Whinney!" she declares, saying the word instead of trying to replicate the sound equines make.

_Merrill..._

Marian turns onto her side, breath ragged. She deserves better than this. Better than me.

_**You know what to do.** _

_Merrill.. forgive me, my love._ Even the chaos in the ragged shreds of her mind can't take away the glow of pride and affection she feels finally letting herself think that word about Merrill.

She rolls onto her hands and knees, then pushes to her feet, moving quietly toward Wynne's room. She knows where to find it; her dreams showed her the box under the bed, how the latch hadn't quite caught, how it had been shoved in haste and the lid bumped off by the bedsprings. She slips to her hands and knees as she gets into Wynne's room, and then to her belly to reach for the box, pulling it back out with her as she crawls backward toward the door. _I won't touch it. I'll just take it and hide it._ She knows it's a lie even as she thinks it.

Wynne evidently is very much a deep sleeper, as she doesn't stir at all. Merrill is in full gallop on her back on the lounge. Even naked, it's more adorable than sexy, to be honest, but that works for the elf. No sign of Bob either, but then he tends to go out roaming at night, being somewhat nocturnal. So there's no-one to stop her, no-one to save her, as Marian walks away.

~*~

Coalside. She's left a letter on Varric's desk at work -- no sense risking him waking up, but it's best for everyone if he doesn't go looking for her, doesn't find her body. That means she needs to go deep into Coalside and lose herself, go somewhere they'll never find. _Not too close to Anders' clinic, or Isabela's tavern, or Zevran's usual haunts. Somewhere nobody will be. Somewhere the guard won't find me until I'm gone beyond redemption._

Steering clear of CatTown -- _Cats hunt at night, they'd see me_ \-- she heads for the Red Lantern District, and through it to... honestly, a rough street she's never been down. It feels right, this street. She spies a couple junkies scurrying into their homes with pouches full of whatever street drug they're peddling these days -- _still Keif? Or Luhix now?_ \-- and it just seems appropriate to be here, of all places, succumbing to her addiction.

The gem is quiet, now. _It knows it's won. I'm so sorry, Merrill._

She slips into a back alleyway, hiding behind a pile of wooden crates. _This is it._ The gem looks so harmless in its little box: a ruby, pulsing with a dark light in the center of it, carved with runes. _Just a pretty stone, after all that._

"Alright, state your name and -- Hawke!" A figure, tall and strong, clad in metal and draped in the city's colors, standing in the alley.

Marian looks up, startled. Her face looks... long. Some trickery of the gem's light makes her look thin, hungry, tired.

"Av--"

_**Do it now** _

Marian drops the box in alarm. Her hand starts to come down onto the gem...

Quicker than the surprised Marian can react, Aveline slams her foot down on the gem to prevent her- her Marian from touching it. "Hawke!" she shouts, then has to yank her blade out as the red glow from the gem winks out after a brilliant flash of _bloodfireragered_ light.

Marian screams, right in time with the light; she collapses into a puddle, making no move to catch herself.

"Hawke! Hawke! Don't you dare leave me now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> (J/K)
> 
> I was disappointed that Aveline wasn't a romance option. That's one of the major disagreements I had with the game; I wanted Aveline and Merrill to move in with me and keep house together, and Anders could visit when he was on his best behavior. I really liked how Merrill and Aveline interacted with each other as well as with me. Though Merrill has a good point -- I did change my reactions when Aveline was in the party. Which was often. I didn't care for Carver's opinion basically ever, and Fenris got tiresome fast.


	7. Dissent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really hard week for everyone in Hawke's circle of friends. Especially Anders.

As the dark recedes from Marian's mind, and her eyes slowly unglue, Marian Hawke realizes she's... actually, she has no idea where she's at.

It's comfy, wherever it is. The bed at least. Warm and soft, with a thick fuzzy blanket that smells faintly of... lavender. And metal, oil and something else she can't place but rather approves of. The room is a little small, maybe three-quarters the size of the one she has at Varric's, but there's a shuttered window letting in gentle sunbeams and what sounds like birdsong outside. A painting of the city as seen from atop the nearby mountains is on the wall across from her, and on the side furthest from the window is a close door and...

Aveline, asleep in a chair, wearing a worn dressing gown and a blanket that's bunched down to her waist. _Oh._

"..veline?" she murmurs, through her sleepiness. _No nightmares..._

The paladin surges to her feet, hands reaching for shield and sword she's not wearing even before her eyes open. It's bizarre, almost jarring to see her so.. normal. Unmilitaristic. No weapon, no amour, no guard sash or tabard, not even her shield. Hair loose and down. Thin cotton nightgown showing far more of her form than Marian's had the pleasure to see before, though, given the circumstances, she's probably not able to fully enjoy it.

"...Hawke? Hawke! You're awake. How do you feel? Headache? Dizziness? Can you see normally?"

"The gem..." she mumbles, blinking her sleep away. _That was... actually a really horrible idea. Why did I do that?_

"Gone," Aveline says firmly, slowing straightening up out of her combat stance. "I.... deactivated it. Now, how are you? Headache, dizziness, blurred sight? Anything like that?"

"Blurred.." she blinks a few times, rubbing at her eyes. "No, I'm okay."

"Suppose you did just wake up," Aveline allows. "Here," she says reaching out to press a hand to Marian's temple. Healing light washes over the half-elf. "Now how do you feel?"

"I feel..." _Holy shit._ "Better than I have all week. Since the dog incident, at least."

Aveline sighs with relief, a tired smile on her lips. "Wynne was right then, the link is completely broken. Good." She pulls her hand back, then thumps Marian in the head. Kind of hard actually. "You stupid jackass!"

Marian flinches. "Ow! Hey!"

"What the fuck where you thinking! Do you have any idea what -- how much-" she breaks off, eyes slightly wet, chest heaving and fists clenched tightly. "Gods damn you Marian, swear to me you'll never do that again."

"I mean, I think you killed it, so..." she begins, trying to play this off in her usual, irreverent manner.

"You stupid--" she reaches out, hands gripping Marian's shoulders to pull her face to face. "You almost- I almost had to watch you die right -- not again, do you hear me? I won't do that again!"

Marian searches her face for a moment before her eyes swell with tears. "I know," she whispers. "I didn't mean for you to see that. I'm sorry."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" she demands, shaking Marian. "Do you think it would hurt less to just wonder, forever, what happened to you? Or worse, to be called in to identify your body? To-to see you, empty and pale instead of vibrant and-and-and so _you_?"

Marian doesn't protest this time; she just hangs her head. "I'm sorry," she whispers. _I don't feel vibrant. I feel..._

Aveline kneels on the bed so she can pull Marian against her. _Oh, that's what that scent was: Aveline. This is her house, her bed. And her embrace._ "I don't want to lose you, not when I've finally admitted to myself that I... that I care for you," she whispers, voice harsh with emotion.

Marian wraps an arm around her neck, breathing in the soft, warm scent of her. "Aveline," she whispers, her voice small. "I didn't mean to. I swear. I never meant to leave you alone, I just..."

"... I know," she says quietly. "It convinced you that you needed to die for us, for some reason or another, didn't? That's the only thing that would make you... give up like that."

She nods, pressed against Aveline's shoulder. "It told me... it was me or Merrill. That she was sleeping near it every day, that she was vulnerable. I couldn't... I couldn't let that happen to anyone I love."

"And of all whom you love, you'd worry about her falling to that the most," Aveline finishes. Gently running close cropped hair, the paladin shifts a little so she can hold her a little easier, a little closer. "Train with me," she says suddenly. "To prevent this sort of thing from ever happening again. Please."

"Alright," she says, quietly. "Now that I can think clearly, now that I can see... yes. I'll do anything to stop myself from hurting my family again." _My family.._ She pulls away, panicked. "Varric!"

Aveline doesn't let her go however. "It's fine, he's fine!" she says quickly. "I summoned Wynne as soon as I brought you back here, and she made sure to let him know. I'm sure he'll be back after work, just like yesterday and the day before." _With dinner, thankfully._

Food is the last thing on Marian's mind. _Yesterday and--_ She groans. "I really have to stop sleeping for days on end."

Aveline chuckles a little, pulling the younger woman back so they're laying down. "Yes, you really do," she says softly.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, brushing the backs of her fingertips along Aveline's cheek. Despite her words, she's smiling now -- not a grin to hide something, but a soft, genuine smile.

Aveline leans into the touch slightly, then stiffens a little before pulling slightly away. "What... what will this be? Us, I mean," she asks quietly, eyes guarded.

"I don't know," says Marian, softly. "I never thought I'd get a chance to be an us. Last time I was awake I thought I'd never see you again. Whatever we are, whatever we become, I just want to keep seeing you."

Aveline sighs a little, her mouth forming a smile though her eyes don't entirely warm. "I... yes. I can accept that much. I don't think I could walk away from you either. I tried, a few times, but you just... it was like trying to block the sun with glass." She pulls Marian in closer, resting Marian's head on her shoulder. "I'll need more someday. I... I need labels, to have things defined. It's how I am, I'm sorry."

"I know," she says, quietly. "But I think... thanks to you, we have time. Thank you. I owe you..." She swallows, struggling to get the words out. "I owe you my life." _And Varric. And Merrill. And Wynne. I should have said this sooner, more often._

Aveline leans down to press a kiss to the crown of Marian's head. "And I you. I don't have anything but duty in life... except you. It was... service, not life. You give back more than you realize, Marian. Far, far more."

 _Someday I'll show you all the good things in your life, Aveline. Someday I'll show you how amazing you are._ Hawke manages a sad smile for now, pressing her arms around the guardswoman.

~*~

As dinnertime approaches, Marian starts trying to make excuses to get out of bed against Wynne's strong suggestions. Finally, she comes clean: "Aveline. You have to let me out of bed. Varric will be here soon."

"If you try to get out of that bed for anything more than an _assisted_ trip to the watercloset, I will cuff you to the headboard, don't think I won't Marian," Aveline says firmly, glaring down at the half-elf.

"Oh for the love of stone! Again?"

Aveline's head snaps up just in time to see Varric spinning around and fleeing. "I- no- I- it wasn't-" And face goes in the hands.

Marian flushes beet red as she slides under the blanket. _Fuck. He's never going to want to see me again,_ she bemoans, not meaning it.

 _Isn't there a spell that removes memories? Can I have a couple of those? Please?_ "So, uh, you didn't answer when I knocked. So. Ahhh," he calls out from the living room.

Aveline slowly lifts her head. "I- we were arguing. I guess we didn't hear," she replies.

"...arguing. Right. Of course, yes, that's- that's good. Arguing is fine," he says, swiftly shifting from disbelief to 'yes okay I will happily accept that reality, thank you' in the span of a dozen words.

Marian peeks the top of her head out from the blanket. "I wanted to get out of bed," she argues. "I'm fine, and Aveline doesn't believe me."

"...I am torn. On one hand, you should rest and recover after the idiotic and self-sacrificing stunt you pulled. On the other, I prefer that you not be associated with beds or anything of that nature," Varric muses loudly, still very much in the other room where he doesn't have to risk seeing something he can't unseen until he finds a merciful wizard.

"Nothing happened!" Aveline snaps, rising from the bed. "Get your mind from the gutter, there's nothing like that happening!"

Marian winces. _Hopefully she's still willing for there to be later..._ Aveline, her back to Marian, doesn't notice the effect her rather fervent denials are having. Movements stiff and mortified, she quickly yanks open a closet and tugs on a heavy robe.

"Right, right, sorry," Varric calls out, not sounding entirely like he's sorry. Aveline spares a moment to glare in his direction, but doesn't reply. "Look, I brought dinner, plenty enough for three. Think Hawke can be helped out to the table to eat?"

"I don't need help!" she insists, pulling the covers aside. _What am I wearing? A nightgown... not mine. Must be Aveline's?_ As Aveline's pulling on the robe, Marian sees her chance. Her feet touch the floor; a moment later, so do her knees, then her left hand and right elbow as the room swims around her.

"Gods curse it, Hawke," Aveline snarls, going to her knees next to Marian. Despite her words and tone, her hands are gentle as she carefully helps stabilize Marian. "You've been a bed for days now, you have to move slow."

"Aveline?" Varric calls out, voice now slightly worried.

"She's fine, just being a stubborn, stupid arse as always."

"I'm fine -- just a bit lightheaded, is all." She flashes a weak smile as Aveline helps her to her feet.

Aveline snorts. "Empty-headed is more like," she mutters, slipping an arm around Marian in a clear message that she's not going to let her try and walk to the table by herself.

"Ha! I'd say hard-headed is more accurate, Hawke!" Varric calls back amidst the sounds of him setting their dinner up.

"Aveline's full of shit, Varric might be on to something though," she says, as she hobbles toward the door and the sounds of food.

"Perhaps," the guard allows as she helps Marian to the table.

Varric studies his ward intently, though he tries to not outright stare at her. "You... look like crap. Better than shit like the day before or Coal-stew of right after... right after, though, so, hey, you're getting better. Nothing fancy, hit up that orcish place on Withen street, got some goulash, light on the spice, and wheat rolls. Ale for Aveline and I, you get water Hawke."

Hawke makes a face. "I could use an ale," she complains.

"No," both of her... companions reply firmly in unison.

Rolling his eyes, Varric adds, "you haven't eaten solid foods in more than two days, plus... the other thing. No booze for you until tomorrow night at the earliest. You're no Merrill but you're also no dwarf." Aveline meanwhile sets a glass of... milk, really, milk? down in front of Marian with a pointed look.

Marian scowls at Aveline. "I'm not a child, either," she argues. "And that-- after what---" She sighs, abandoning that line of reasoning. "Anyway, I'm fine now."

Aveline sniffs. "Well, it's that, water or... water, so..." she says, her firm tone faltering a little at how badly her housekeeping skills are being shown to be.

Marian winces a little. _I didn't mean to--_ She takes a sip of the milk. "Fine. I appreciate your putting me up like this anyway, Aveline."

"No need to thank me," she says firmly. "You're one of mine, of course I'd look after you." She seems to stiffen a little and adds a touch forcedly, "the same as I would any under my command."

Varric squints at the two women suspiciously. He'd not really thought they were... up to anything, not after the first instant of shock, and had in fact entirely accepted Lady Lawful's explanation, but the way the two of them are acting.. _Nah. Lady Lawful wouldn't know sex except as how it's defined by the legal system. And if she did actually unbend enough to try it out, it'd be with some other shiny guard, not a wildcard like Hawke._ Brushing it off, he finishes serving out the food and sets a plate in front of Hawke.

Marian looks at her plate. "I haven't been... the best friend to either of you of late, I think."

"You did fuck up just a little, but I think you get a bit of a pass, given the whole mind-whammy bullshit that gem could do," Varric says after a moment of silence. "I... shit. I can't say I wouldn't have made the same choice, me for you or even Merrill so I can't say much there. Doesn't mean I wasn't anger or that I'm not still a little upset, but.. I get it." Aveline doesn't say anything, just squeezes Marian's shoulder before she takes a seat a the table. She's said what she wanted to already, it's Varric's turn.

Marian winces when he mentions Merrill. "I-- I should have known it was a ruse. I should have trusted her."

Varric frowns, looking puzzled, until Aveline says quietly, "it threatened to go after Merrill if Hawke refused it again."

Varric sucks in a breath, wincing. _Yeah, that would do it. Hawke would flay herself alive and then crawl through broken salt shards to beg for the privilege of being possessed to spare Merrill that fate._ "It wasn't you, not entirely, Hawke. Making the decision, I mean. Wynne told you about that right? How that first possession left... some kind of back-door or something? But Lady So Damn Lucky She Owes Vangal a Beer put paid to that, so you're clear now."

Aveline glares at Varric, for the irreverence and the telling both. Marian looks up, frowning at Aveline. "Lucky? For finding me in time, you mean?"

"Yes/That too," They both say, Aveline's glare intensifying, but Varric just looks back, the pair silently arguing.

Marian's heart stops in her chest. "Aveline, you didn't... you didn't _touch_ it, did you?"

"No! I'm fine, perfectly fine," she says quickly, breaking off her staring match with Varric.

"Turns out the gem can't work through enchanted mithril," Varric says blithely. "At least not fast enough to have an effect before two hundred pounds of pure law cracks the blasted thing nearly in half." And now she's back to glaring at Varric, her eyes actually seeming to smolder a little.

"Cracks the--- did the demon get loose?" Marian places her hands flat on the table, starting to push herself to her feet.

"Sit down!" Aveline says, reaching over to hold Hawke in place. "And no, it's fine, I said it's fine, we're fine. Nothing happened. A bit of a light show and you passed out. Nothing else."

"Hence the lucky," Varric adds. "Like getting five heads in a row lucky or pulling the ace of swords first shot lucky. Someone was looking out for you too and given she glows in the dark, I figure it was Vangal." Aveline's god, the god of protecting the weak, was no more known for actively meddling in his follower's lives than any other diety -- which is to say, it happened, but only on his schedule, and rarely for clear reasons.

"I pass--" She groans, sitting down. "It felt like... what are those irritating string instruments. With the bows?" She looks to Varric for the name.

"...a violin?"

She nods. "That's it. It felt like a hundred of those, all screeching at different notes, inside my head. It wouldn't stop until I blacked out."

"Ouch," the dwarf says with a wince. "Can't blame you for fainting like a dainty lady after all. Much." Ah, humor, the best shield against worrisome emotions. "Like a dainty, frilly- ow!" Aveline smiles faintly as she eats her goulash.

"What can I say, I'm an elf," she says, picking up her spoon now that she's sure she doesn't have to rush off and fix something. "We're not known for our stamina."

Aveline's mouth opens, the open and slightly teasing glint in her eye that Marian is allowed to see from time to time, but she checks herself with a flick of her eyes at Varric. "Well, eat up and maybe you can recover what you have a little faster," she says instead of whatever she was going to.

Varric glances at, having noticed her change but not having a clue as to why she didn't say whatever she was going to. _Seriously, what is with the two of them today? Then again, I suppose even Lady Lawful can't just brush off the near-death of a friend and a near daemon-summoning so quickly. Makes sense she'd be a little off._ "So... fair warning, Merrill is about fifty kinds of emotional," he finally comments. "Pretty sure Wynne is casting sleep spells on her a few times a day to prevent her from either combusting or somehow teleporting to you."

One of the few advantages of being in a blind panic that night is that he can't really recall any details of said night. Such as blowing up Wynne's door only to find a startled awake and very nude Merrill in the living room. Or being sucker punched by a flying hamster in defense of said naked elf, whom had very clearly had sex recently. Or laying in the front yard, winded and gasping, until a naked, recently had wild sex with his daughter elf, poked him in the cheek to administer a healing spell.

None of that, of course, ever happened. Just possible examples. Wynne must have just decided to replace her door for her own personal reasons. Old people. Who knows what they get up to. Probably redecorates all the time for no reason. Yep.

Marian pales. "Sleep spells? She's that worried? I'll head right ove-- after I eat, I'll head right there," she corrects, catching Aveline's expression.

"If you finish everything and take a brief nap, I'll help you over tonight," Aveline offers, her tone implying that this is _not_ the start of haggling, but a final offer.

"If you won't let me go over there, then let her see me," she snaps. "It's cruel to-- after what I did to her, it's..." She takes a deep, ragged breath, and lets it out, visibly calming herself. "She'll feel a lot better if she can see me."

"I didn't -- I said I would help you over, but you fainting at her feet would certainly not help her state," Aveline says testily. "Eat well and rest and then you can go back to her."

"I can nap at Wy--" she pauses. "The, ah, the broken gemstone isn't at Wynne's, is it?"

"No," Varric says shortly, exchanging a glance with Aveline. "It's... elsewhere now. And Wynne is almost completely sure any hold it had on you is gone, but just in case, that's all you need to know."

Aveline sighs. "That's not why. But... fine. If you want to go right after dinner, then you'll have to consent to being carried the trip to Wynne's."

Marian swallows. "...alright. For Merrill's sake." So saying, she begins eating again, this time a little less languidly. After a moment, she adds, "Best I can tell, Wynne's right. I feel more myself than I have in weeks."

Aveline blinks, clearly not having expected Marian to agree to it. "...oh. Ah, very well then. And that's good to hear, about feeling like yourself. But you're still doing that mental conditioning training with me."

Marian nods rapidly. "Definitely," she says, as soon as she's swallowed her spoonful. "I don't ever want something like this to happen again."

"Amen to that," Varric says fervently.

~*~

"...maybe... could have let you eat... a little... less," Aveline grunts as Wynne's house finally comes into view. Marian doesn't weigh all that much, but caring any humanoid, even a child, for nearly twenty minutes is no easy feat. And Aveline is far too vividly aware that the person being carried on her back is very much a woman. Should have worn her armour, extra weight be damned. At least Varric is ahead of them, planning on slipping in before them to let Merrill know Marian is fine but tired so maybe not actually tackle her or anything?

"I can walk from here, that's Wynne's," she points out, slipping down Aveline's back. "...she repainted her door? Or no, looks like a new one?"

Aveline glances head, having begrudgingly let the half-elf down. "...the lintel is damaged as well," she say slowly. Painted over, yes, but it looks like part of it was broken off or something. "No idea what happened though."

Varric doesn't have to wait long for his knock to be answered by Wynne. He exchange a few words before stepping inside. Wynne looks past him to see the two ladies approaching and offers a wave before vanishing as well, though the door is left cracked open. Marian bites her lip, resisting the urge to pull free of Aveline and run toward Merrill. _Be good. You fucked this up, the least you can do is be less of a burden on your friends now._ Excruciatingly slowly, she moves one step at a time toward the door.

Aveline lets her take all of three steps alone before moving to put a supportive arm around Marian. Which in truth does speed things up, allowing as it does the magus to focus more on walking and less on staying upright.

Soon enough, they make it to the house, where Merrill is waiting just inside. She's almost vibrating in place, eyes slightly red, with dark smudges underneath, and her hair is messy and knotted. "Marian," she whispers softly, almost brokenly, as her eyes fill with tears. Schooling her face blank, Aveline steps away to give them space.

"You look awful," Marian says, trying for lighthearted. "Come hug me already, before I fall over." Bawling silently, Merrill lurches at Marian, arms wrapping around her tightly. Aveline watches for a few seconds, then turns away. Stepping out of the house, she closes the door behind her and starts for... her house.

Further inside, Varric quietly fills Wynne in on how Marian's condition has been since she woke, the elder nodding with a pleased look.

Marian clings to Merrill for a long few minutes, revelling in her heartbeat, her scent, her warmth. When she pulls back, she looks to Aveline to apologize... and curses in Elven when she sees the woman missing. The tears flow forth then, as she bows her head. "I'm sorry, I have to go after her, I--" she continues, in the same language.

"Go after..?" Merrill says wetly in her mother tongue, looking around. "Who?" She sounds more confused than anything else -- had she not noticed anything other than Marian and actually that sounds exactly like Merrill.

"Aveline. She saved my life, brought me here, and then just left, I shouldn't... I don't know what to do."

Merrill's eyes widen and her face sets. "Bob! Stop Aveline!" she commands, moving towards the door without letting go of Marian. She owes Aveline too, for saving her Marian. She'd have just... shattered if she-- without-- _No. It didn't happen, it won't ever. I'll make sure of it._

Marian almost trips, trying to get free of Merrill. "Merrill! Maybe I could sit?"

"Oh, I was going to help you go after her?" she says, confused. Outside, they hear a familiar voice cursing loudly. Something about flying furballs? Oh dear.

Marian makes a snap decision. "Help me to the couch, then bring her back."

Merrill nods hurriedly, then (wo)manhandles Marian to the couch before sprinting for the door. "Uh, Hawke? Where's Moonbeam going?" Varric asks carefully. And worriedly. Outside, the shouting has increased in volume thanks to the open door and Merrill's higher pitched voice soon joins it.

"To stop--" Realizing she's still speaking Elven, she stops and clears her throat, trying again in Dwarven: "To stop Aveline. Stones, I'm tired."

"Stop Aveline? From what? What's going on?" he replies automatically, in perfect Elven. "And why are we playing language games?"

The yelling has shifted to firm words, still above normal conversation but not shouting anymore. A moment later, Aveline yells again, this time clearly audible, "damned flying rat! I will kill-"

And then Bob comes zipping in, holding... "Is that Lady Lawful's... brasserie?" Varric asks in stunned... horror? Wonder? Awe?

Bob bows slightly. "She should be here momentarily, Mistress's lady," he says gravely to Marian before vanishing into Merrill's room.

Wynne sighs, then heads that way as well. "I know where he puts things, I'll... bargain for... the item's return."

Marian blushes. "Ah... She left. I asked Merrill to get her back." Given a moment alone with just her adopted father, she sags against the back of the couch, letting her weariness show for just a moment as she lapses into Dwarven once more. "I am spectacularly bad at this whole relationship thing."

"Eh, you do better than I have," Varric says in an attempt to be supportive, his attention still on the door leading to Merrill's room.

Shortly after Wynne leaves, Aveline storms into the house. "Where is he? Where is that bastard?" she roars, one arm firmly across her chest. While she is not the most chesty of Marian's circle- that honor is actually a tie between Wynne and Isabela- she is of fair size and her tunic is... not designed to be worn without support. Merrill trails in behind the irate paladin, looking pleased at her success and put out by her success's result. Marian just lets the drama blow over her, a faint smile on her lips as she reclines, keeping her eyes closed gently.

A few seconds later, she's jostled awake as Merrill pushes Aveline into the space next to her, then promptly curls up half on Marian's lap, half on the other side of her. "Enjoy your nap?" the elf asks softly as she stares up at Marian. Nap..? How long..?

"About an hour," Aveline stiffly answers her unspoken question, still annoyed about her... about the theft.

Merrill pouts a little. "He was only trying to help," she wheedles plaintively, getting a derisive snort in reply.

"Thieving pervert is what he is."

"Sorry," Hawke groans. "I'm awake now."

"You needed the sleep," Aveline says quickly, though she looks a little impatient.

"I wouldn't let her leave until you spoke with her," Merrill says, closing her own eyes as she soaks in the joy have having Marian with her again. "But she wouldn't let anyone wake her up. So we played games."

Aveline whimpers, very, very softly.

"You should have woken me." Marian smiles, faintly. "I just... I wanted you to stay. I didn't mean to ditch you, Aveline, I just wanted to make sure Merrill was okay."

"I... that's perfectly fine. I completely understand wanting to reassure your... girlfriend," she sounds a little uncertain about whether that's the right word to use, but keeps going, "after all that's happened. I understood that, Hawke."

"But I wanted to reassure you, too. And Varric. And Wynne, for that matter. I just..." She sighs, her hands closing on nothing in her lap. "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm letting all of you down a lot lately." Merrill squirms around so her mouth under under Marian's hands to kiss at them.

"You're not, Hawke," Aveline says quietly. "You're... you're exactly what we need," she says, voice tight and uncomfortable as she tries to ignore Merrill being able to hear this.

Marian laughs bitterly. "You need a young half-elf with a magic addiction problem who's too stupid to keep her hands away from demon gems? I wonder what problems you've got, if I'm the answer."

"Being alone," she says in dwarven, hoping Merrill doesn't share the language. She doesn't seem to respond, but that doesn't mean much with Merrill. "Being too terrified to open up even a little. Too cowardly to share any part of myself, of being anything other than my job." Her hands fist tightly at her side, nails biting in deeply. In common, she adds, "and you're not an addict, you were ensorcelled. Nor are you stupid, far from it."

Marian makes a small, worried sound in the back of her throat, replying in Dwarven. "But you are opening up. You're becoming that person, for me. You're stronger than you know." She doesn't address the addict part.

"Maybe. But only because of you. I do need you," Aveline says, in a low tone. "Don't sell yourself short. You're better than you fear, much better."

"It could have been anyone. I'm honored you think I'm worthy." Hawke cringes -- the word she chose has a little too much 'pleasing the ancestors' in its connotation. "Honored," she clarifies in Elven, the word holding more connotations of being lucky or fated.

"No, it really couldn't have been," Aveline says firmly, eyes locked with Marian's.

She flushes, looking down -- and noticing Merrill's attention to her fingertips, the elf kissing each one in turn. "Dear heart, I'm in no mood for that sort of activity," she says in Elven, stealing a phrase or two from Zevran's playbook.

Merrill blinks at her, puzzled. "That sort of what?" she asks, even as Aveline flushes. "Aren't kisses supposed to make it better?"

"You remember what happ--" She cuts herself off, switching languages again -- this time to Orcish, a language both reasonably likely not to be shared and great for cursing in. "Ignorant piss-puddle." She shakes her head, starting again in Elven. "Thank you."

When she looks back to Aveline, the human appears both curious and embarrassed at what just transpired. Merrill, however, just beams up at Marian, pulling her hands to her cheeks to nuzzle happily. Marian stops trying to carry conversation, then, letting Aveline do the talking while Merrill does the cuddling. Soon enough, she sees Varric try to creep past them, and pats Merrill on the head. "Aright, enough resting. I'd prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight, dear."

"Can I come too?" she asks hopefully, then shifts to look at Aveline. "Your bed is big enough for all three of us," she adds, causing Varric to instantly start back out of the room. He can leave through the window in Wynne's room, it's plenty big enough.

"W-wwhat?" Aveline sputters.

"Stop chasing Varric away," scolds Marian. "No, I won't sleep if you're there."

"Why not?" the elf asks, voice entirely innocent. "You still need to rest. Oh! I still have a sleep spell unused if you want," she offers happily.

"That's- hold on, why am I- why did you imply," Aveline continues to sputter, face bright red and looking all around mortified.

"Well, she's been using your bed for two nights, it's only fair," Merrill says logically. Sorta...

"Merrill!" Marian sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You know why I won't sleep."

"You're still recovering, we can't have sex," she says matter-of-factly, Aveline's mouth snapping shut. How can she just- say that like she did?

"And if you cuddle up to me naked, I'll want to. So the answer is no."

"I could wear a nightie," she offers. "And I could spell you! Or Aveline could be in the middle," she finishes brightly, looking pleased with her brilliant idea. Aveline is just staring, flabbergasted. She- she'd just- outloud- and- invited her- just like- without even- how!?!

"What did I say about nos?" she scolds her.

"But I'm not asking about sex, I already said you can't have any for a few more days," Merrill protests. "And you never listen to 'no' unless it's about sex. Or when Wynne is using her Stern Face."

Marian frowns. "When don't I listen to no?"

Merrill inhales deeply "Whenever you have a crazy new job, whenever you have a brilliant new plan, whenever anyone suggests not talking to your stupid family, whenever you're hurt and people want you to rest, whenever Varric tries to tell you not to pay rent, whenever-" Well, Aveline seems to be over her shock, given the snickering.

Marian puts a finger on Merrill's lips. "That's... different." she concludes. "You have to respect when people don't want to do things with their bodies, like sharing a bed." A beat. "We do have to talk about some of that stuff, but later?"

Mumbling a little now, she asks, "is asking if I can sleep on your floor okay?"

Marian makes a strangled sound. "Merrill.. I'm sorry I left you alone."

"...I just want to be able to see you when I wake up," Merrill whispers. "Please?"

Next to Marian, Aveline is trying to not show the twisting shame she's feeling. She could have simply invited Merrill over, allowed the elf to visit or even stay, after Wynne had ruled it better to not move her. But she'd already been uncomfortable allowing Wyne and Varric to come into her place, to see the house she had once thought to share with... And she'd been jealous. Had wanted to keep Marian to herself for a little while, knowing that eventually she'd go back to Merrill for good. Had made this poor innocent suffer for days because she was weak and petty.

Marian ducks her head to hide the tears. "Alright. Alright. I'll need help getting there anyway. Just... please, I do need to rest. Okay?"

Merrill nods silently, face very serious. "I understand," she whispers. "Do you want to go now?"

"Yes." She smiles at Merrill, reaching up to tuck a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "And maybe in the morning we can brush your pretty hair out?" Another quiet nod from the elf.

"I'll... see you soon then, Hawke," Aveline manages to say with only a bit of stiffness as she rises.

"Please visit?" she asks, tiredly, but with real yearning in her voice.

~*~

It's a couple days before Merrill will leave Marian's side. Marian can't seem to blame her, really. After what I did... If she lets her get away with too much, if she pushes herself too hard trying to get Merrill to take care of herself, if she agrees to go a bit further past flirting than she's comfortable with, well, it's not as if she tries that hard to say no, not after the face Merrill made at Wynne's. Not once she recalls how horrid she's been as a lover.

But, eventually, Merrill has a magic lesson, which Varric **strongly** encourages her to go to. And it goes fine! Marian's still there when she gets back.

And then her spirit friends miss her. And then she needs to pick up some things at the market. And then, and then, until she's spending chunks of each day away from Marian, though she still spends the night. Marian spends a lot of the early separations catching up on sleep, but on one of Aveline's visits, she gives her contact information for her other friends, so they won't worry. Which means now they're stopping by to chat with her too. Isabela didn't stay long, and Zevran just sent chocolates and a nice note that makes her blush scarlet, but when Varric sees Anders coming up the walk, things don't bode so well...

"Comrade K, what brings you up to Meadows? No poor, no rich, not much for you to do here," he says laconically as he opens the door.

"There are always poor," he says, but his heart doesn't quite seem in it. He sounds distracted, and he looks... haunted, a bit. Has he been that worried about Marian? "Can I see her? I don't mean to be a burden..."

"And yet," he mutters in Dwarven, before switching back to Common. "Come on in and have a seat, I'll go look in on her and see if she's up for visitors," he tells Anders, gesturing at the living room. "And don't hide any pamphlets this time."

"No, of course not." Anders moves to sit in the parlor, his leg twitching a little dance as he does.

Marian seems surprised and delighted to see Anders; she wasn't dressed yet, but she doesn't keep him waiting long, changing from her nightgown to her usual tunic-and-leggings. "What a surprise!" she says, as she (carefully) makes her way to where he waits.

"Marian," he says warmly, his lips relaxing into a smile. There's still a tightness around his eyes as he appraises her, however.

After seeing her safely seated, Varric gives them a look, then heads off. "Be in my office," he says over his shoulder. And he does head there. For a full two minutes, before slipping his way back close enough to eavesdrop. That twitch and skittish of Ander's is tripping his alarm spell something fierce... He doesn't head away quite fast enough to miss clear sound of a kiss.

When he returns to hearing range, they must have gotten past the pleasantries. Marian's relating a story Merrill's told her about Bob, and Anders is.. chuckling politely. After a few minutes, Marian sighs.

"Alright. What's happened."

"What? Why would you think--"

"I know you, Anders. I'm a big girl, I can take it."

Varric, still grumbling a little to himself -- he likes Merrill, he's... okay with Zevran and Isabella (but only because it's clear Marian is okay with it just being a causal thing), and he's starting to wonder what's up with her and Lady Lawful (and ain't that a trip) but Comrade Kook? Really? Ugh, really Hawke, you're so much better than that -- slips back, invisible, to listen.

Anders is quiet for a few seconds, then admits, "I need your help."

He focuses back on their conversation -- third time he's heard that story about Bob -- at Kook's reply. _Help? Hooboy, here we go... will it be money or something worse?_

"Of course you do," she says, with a smile to her voice. "What is it this time? Don't tell me it was cupcakes again."

"This is serious, Hawke." He takes a deep breath, looking at Marian's hands in his. "I... I'm having some problems with Justice."

Marian raises an eyebrow. "Wynne's better with that than I am."

"Not-- not the magic. He's... changing, I think."

"Changing?" Marian drops the sarcasm, now furrowing her brow with concern.

"He's... he's starting to scare me." His voice drops lower, and he casts a guilty glance toward Varric's study. "He's doing things without my asking. He's always been strong-willed, but more and more he's doing things I don't approve of."

"Things like leaving the toilet seat up or--?"

"Things like... murder."

 _Like what now?_ Varric growls silently. _Oh you slimy son of a slattern, what kind shit are you dragging my girl into?_ His hand tightens on Bianca's stock as he creeps a little closer, wanting to be a heartbeat from having a shot lined up.

Marian's grip tightens on Anders' hands, almost painfully so. "Anders..." 

"I don't know what to do, Hawke. I can't say I disapprove of his ideals, but this..."

"Anders. You have to turn yourself in and get help."

Anders shakes his head. "I can't. Who would help the people?"

"Forget about the people -- what about the guy you killed?" She sounds less compassionate now, and he shrinks back a bit from her anger.

"He was no saint. He was taking bribes, letting criminals go free if they paid him. Nyra's better off without him."

"That's no excuse. You should have turned him in."

"And I intended to! Do you really think so little of me, Hawke?"

Marian says nothing.

 _Okay, that's not as ohshite he killed a guard. Oh fucking fuck! Damnit._ Well, he's proud of Marian's reactions, but that's minor comfort right now.

Anders drops Hawke's hands. "I thought I could count on you to understand."

"I do understand," she says, quietly.

"Clearly not." He stands. "Nevermind. I'll deal with this myself."

He gets halfway to the door before she sighs and calls out, "Wait." He pauses, with his back to her still.

Varric stares intently at the back of the little fuckwit's head. _An iron bolt, a touch slick with a touch of poison, would gleam slightly were it not as invisible as he as it points to the same place. A pound of pressure. A gentle squeeze and... problem resolved. Well, Hawke would likely be rather pissed but still. Anders wouldn't be a concern anymore. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck!_

Marian is quiet for a moment longer, then sighs. "Alright. Did you get rid of the body? Witnesses?"

_That is not the right time to be properly applying the lessons I've taught you, Hawke!_

"There weren't any witnesses. He came to my clinic; I scrubbed the back room down and dumped the body in a brothel room after it closed for the morning."

_How the fuck are the whores going to explain that? A dead guard ripped apart in their back room?_

"That's... devious," she says, slowly. And a little terrifying.

_One way to put it, sure._

"But I have to find ways to control Justice. I have to take charge. "

_Or... not. You being in charge? Actually sounds like a horrid idea. I wouldn't want you in charge of a cat!_

"What if you just.... didn't summon him when it was a sensitive situation?"

"Don't be stupid. I need his power or I'll never equalize the imbalances in power."

_Wow. The hypocrisy is strong with this one._

"Right, right, but like, if a guardsman comes by your clinic, maybe you don't need him right then?"

Anders frowns. "I thought I might have to protect myself."

_Yeah, if you're first thought is 'let me summon my highly overzealous spirit-beast' when confronted with a guard, maybe rethink your life?_

"What if we hired you a bodyguard?"

"I suppose I can unsummon him if you're around. I can trust you."

_What? No? That's a dumb idea for dumb people who do dumb things. No-one with any brains-_

"Yeah, alright. I'll start working in your clinic part time, then. But in the meantime, I need to ask Wynne some questions or we'll never have a better solution."

_Damnit Hawke!_

"Just don't tell her who for, or why."

She sighs again. "I don't like this, Anders. I'd rather you came clean to Aveline about the whole thing. But, if it's that important, yes, I can protect your privacy."

_In the gut with a spirit, Hawke! Is that what you want to hear for the next year? Every! Single! Day!_

"Thank you, love."

_Oh fuck off._

"Of course."

_At least she didn't say it back... fuck, he's going to have to tip Aveline off about this. Have to pass it off as a rumor from a solid source, can't have this wash back on Marian...._

"If there's ever anything I can do for you," he begins, but she cuts him off with a smile.

_Die for me?_

"Just keep loving me."

_... are you still this desperate to... to be loved? To be convinced your **fucking** _ **loving** _**family** was wrong? Fuck, why did I promise not to go after them? That was a mistake. I should never have done that, never have... fuck._

He smiles fondly back. "Always."

_Seriously, die for me? Please?_

Anders doubles back, leaning in for another kiss -- and she pulls him a bit closer, clings to him, as if afraid to let him go. Finally, she releases him, and he presses another kiss to her forehead before taking his leave.

Varric slinks back to his office to... plan. Certainly not to scowl and grumble and catalogue his collection of toxins and poisons. He _really_ needs to talk to Aveline...

~*~ 

Marian, alone, cradles her face in both palms, breathing deeply. _How do I get myself into these messes..._ When she's got control over herself again, she rises, moving to knock on Varric's door.

There's a pause, a faint chink, and then, "yeah? Need something Hawke?"

"Just wanted to let you know I've accepted a part-time position at Anders' clinic." she says, with an alarming degree of cheeriness.

"Come on in, I hate talking through doors," he calls back. _Part-time position?_ He scoffs quietly. _Fucking slag eating Anders._

"Sure," she says, pushing the door open. She seems relaxed, comfortable, her smile easy and carefree as she takes a seat. "Like I was saying, I've taken a part-time position at the clinic."

Varric has some paperwork out in front of him, and a ledger. Plus a bottle of amber fluid and a glass. Ah, that must be what she heard. "Yeah? What brought that on?"

She gives a little laugh. "Anders is a mess without me. He's got paperwork backing up now that I haven't been around to help him organize it. I told him, if I'm going to keep sorting and filing for you, you're going to pay me, and he agreed." She shrugs. "Money's good enough, we'll see how long before I try to strangle him for being so messy."

What... not a stutter or glance at his hands. Didn't even stumble on her flow. Fuck, he might well have bought it, had he not know better. Oh, there's still a hint or two -- it's too flowing, smooth, like she planned it out instead of just putting words to what is, for one -- but... damn. "You sure? His clinic is... kind of dodgy. And not just the area, he... well, there've been a few rumors going around about him." He shrugs a little. "About him... well, maybe getting too far into his ideals, I guess you could say." _Come on Hawke, please..._

She shakes her head, 'tssk'ing with her teeth. "They're just rumors, for now. I keep telling him he needs to back down sometimes, act like he has some hobbies. His plans are starting to worry me, to be honest, but I think it's because he keeps hearing 'no'. I need to find him some like-minded friends with cooler heads he can talk things over with, see if he mellows out." She grins. "Though, there was this one time he swapped out the scrolls on a bunch of fortune cupcakes, that was pretty funny."

"Alright, just... watch out for yourself, alright? He's a grown man -- if he gets into a mess, that's not on you to fix," he says, looking back at his ledger. "...how, ah, how you doing by the way? With... things."

She sighs. "I'm not sui--" _Bad word choice._ "I'm not stupid. I know when to get out."

Varric winces. "Sure, sure, consider that dropped." _Can't handle you lying to my face over **him** anymore._ "On you now, how are you doing? Finally get enough rest?"

"Looking like it. I'll give it another day before I start my new job, just to be safe, but I'm feeling a lot more myself."

 _Dropped please._ "Good. That's... good. I... We, ah, haven't talked yet. About... the gem," he says carefully. "And... what happened."

Now her smile fades, and her gaze drops to her lap. "No," she agrees. "I didn't know if you wanted to."

" _Want_ might not be the right word, but... yeah, I think we should," he says slowly, then taps the bottle while giving her a questioning look.

She nods. "Where do you want me to begin?" she asks, quietly.

"Well, I'm sure Lady Lawful has gone over the stupid parts, and Moonbeam has made you feel all the guilt -- still not sure if she means to do that stuff or if it's just her being her -- and Wynne has gone over the practical sides of things so..." He says all this slowly as he pours her two fingers of whiskey and slides the glass over. "Guess I'll ask how you're handling it."

She shrugs. "I'm okay. Like I said, I feel more myself than I had been. I didn't notice how often I was thinking about the gem, or... there was one time I had trouble paying attention to Merrill because I was so focused on almost hearing it. Didn't even strike me as odd at the time. So I think I'm on the road to real recovery."

"Can't begin to say how glad I am to hear that," he admits. "But I was more... well, how are you handling..." he visibly gropes of the word. "What was done to you? And... how what you did -- were made to do rather -- had done to your loved ones?" A beat and he can't stop himself from adding, "and the other people around you?" Because fuck Anders.

She flinches. "I... I'll manage."

"Marian, you can talk to me," he reminds her gently.

"Can I?" she asks, quietly. "I know I hurt you, too. I don't want to hurt you more."

Varric's hand drifts to his vest pocket; he forces it back to the desk. "It... was a pretty bad night," he admits. "But I'd be hurt more if you _didn't_ talk to me."

She looks away. "Merrill may never forgive me, deep down. Aveline seems to be taking it better, but... if she hadn't found me the minute she did... it was a very near thing. I didn't realize she patrolled that part of Coalside, she'd have found me... after." _Like you did._

"She doesn't," he corrects her quietly. "She normally does the other end. Got her patrol swapped because a guard called in sick and she can solo that rough a neighborhood. And she was outside _that_ route too, coming back after helping a drunk get home safe. There was no reasonable chance of her being in that exact alleyway." He looks back up at her, expression grave and more than just a little... awed. "I deflect with humor but I meant it when I said she owed her god one."

Marian glances at him, her eyes welling with tears when the catch the look in his. "Maybe I should switch."

"I may have given him one hell of a donation that week," he admits with a laugh that's only partially forced. "But yeah, anyway. I think... I think Merrill will be fine. She's probably going to be even clingier for a while yet, but I think she's honestly just spooked. She's forgiven you, I'm sure."

"Have you?" She wipes the tears away, watching his face.

"Didn't have to," he replies simply. "I was worried about you, yeah. Terrified. But I wasn't... angry with you. Not real anger, just that... stupid anger that happens when you're scared and can't face it or it'd paralyze you."

She nods, slowly, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "I meant the things I said in that letter, you know. Well, I mean, the good things."

He winces again, his hand starting up to his vest for a second. "I, uh, didn't finish it. Couldn't," he admits softly. "Finishing it would be... admitting you were..."

Marian has to take a minute, to wipe away the tears that seem to have redoubled in the last few seconds. "Varric," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh for fuck's sake, I used to be a roguish bachelor with a gold-plated stone heart, Never wanted a family, always thought it'd be too much a bother," he grumbles before reaching out to yank Marian into a hug. "I love you, you daft girl, even if you do make the damndest choices. No dwarf's ever had a better daughter."

"I love you too, Varric," she whispers in his ear. "I owe you my life several times over. I could never, ever repay you, but I haven't made a very good start. That's why it went after you in my first dream -- you're the one I can't live without." She'd said something to that effect in her letter, but it feels better to be whispering it to him like this, safe in his arms, alive, planning to see tomorrow.

"I'm not a very good dwarf I guess, because I don't care about those debts. You're my daughter, Marian, blood be damned, and there'll be no debts between us, ever," he replies in a hoarse voice. It helps though, to hear the words. He'd noticed that she's reluctant to say those three words, or any variation of them. Even shies away from endearments. Just means he knows they're real now.

"No debts," she agrees, squeezing him tighter.

The pair stay like that for far too long, only parting when Marian's leg cramps on her from having to bend slightly to hug a sitting dwarf. After laughing over her hobbling dance number that results in, they find themselves in the living room. Varric makes mulled cider and flatcakes- the only food he can make more complex than burned meat seasoned with ash- and he shifts into full storyteller mode.

Hours pass as he tells her story after story about his, about their ancestors. Their heroic deeds, their greatest follies, their most wondrous inventions and their loves and sorrows. What they embody, what values and traits they honor and what flaws they acknowledge as their own.

He tells of Vaynur and her sons, Murion and Lethun who crafted a gleaming steel golem, not in the shape of man nor dwarf, but instead in the form of a mighty dragon, and how they flew this dragon against the armies of Ranisthsol the Bloodrend to save their home.

He speaks of Merrywise the Fool, a third-born son who played the dandy so well that all underestimated him, even his own blood, and how it was not until his death that any realized he had amassed a fortune so vast and varied that it still fills the Tethras coffers today.

He then spoke of Merrywise's son, who very nearly ruined his father's legacy with his mad dreams of creating a forge that would create masterworks worthy of a sage smith without a single finger being lifted in honest work, a fate avoided only by the cleverness of his unreasonable loyal steward Ulfens.

He tells of Varion and his romance with an oread woman of, ahem, an earthly beauty beyond compare, and the heartbreak that came of that romance, the loss and sorrow of love soured by jealousy and distrust brought about by ignorance and shame.

He shares the story of the Maiden Aunt, who raised her orphaned niece and nephew after her brother's death at the hands of rivals, and how she devoted her life to protecting them- and her death too, forging her very life into matching suits of armor to protect them forever.

He gives the legend of the origin of their line, Tethras No-Clan, a foundling girl who broke the very mantle of the world and drew forth a gleaming handful of molten earthblood to shape a sword to wield in service to her lord- and how she became his lady, chosen over countless worthies of ancient lineage and impeccable families for her loyalty, honesty and adamant and unwavering faith, not only in him but in herself.

Story after story, thousands of years of history and myth interwoven together to become a comforting cloak of belonging. Neither notice them skipping lunch, nor the sun setting. Hour after hour of words and love and history shared as a gift for both listener and storyteller. It's not until Aveline knocks on the door that they realize they've spent a good six hours just... talking. Just... being a family.

When Marian answers the door, she's greeted by a conflicted looking Aveline holding a brown bag that smells strongly of elven curry- sweet fruit and tangy sauces. "It's good to see you, it's been a long- Hawke, are you alright?" Her voice started out weary and stressed, but ends filled with concern and surprise. "You're crying."

"I'm good crying," she reassures her friend, stepping aside to let her in. "Varric's been telling me the clan stories. I didn't get to hear them when I was a child, after all. The Amell family stories aren't anywhere near as good."

Aveline's face softens and she smiles gently at Marian. Her eyes flick around as she nudges the door shut behind her. Not seeing Varric or anyone else visible in the hallway, she leans in to rest her forehead on Marian's for a second. Hands are full so she can't hug after all. "I'm glad for you," she whispers. "It's good you have a strong foundation now."

Marian has no such restrictions; she wraps her arms around as much of Aveline as she can reach from the side. "Me too," she whispers back. "I'm glad you're here too. Especially with food. That smells divine."

Aveline tenses for a split-second at the hug, still so unused to being touched in that way, but seems pleased by it thereafter. Marian's final comment earns a short laugh. "Swear you really are part dwarf, with how much you honor those that bring you food," she teases. Stepping away, she hesitates a moment. "If... I mean, if you wanted more time alone with him, I could..."

"I've definitely been put in the wrong body," she confirms. "I should have been half-dwarf half-elf." So what if there's never been such a creature? "Come, join us. We've been hanging out all day, it's time to share."

"...if you're sure," she allows, following after the 'half-dwarf-elf-human' to the living.

"Lady Lawful, wonderful to see you," Varric says as he finishes gathering up the empty cider kettle and mugs, grateful Mairan had delayed the guard until he'd had a chance to wipe his face. Aveline gives him a dubious glance- they get along fairly well, but not so much that he greets her that warmly often. Then she notices he's greeting her, but sniffing deeply.

"You mean, wonderful to see me carrying dinner," she says dryly. "You're as bad as your daughter."

Varric nearly bobbles a mug, a broad grin overtaking him before he can tone it down to a normal smile.

"You know us dwarves, always thinking with our stomachs," Marian replies in Dwarven, with a mischievous smile. She goes about getting plates, dishing out food.

Aveline rolls her eyes as she unpacks the food and helps Marian serve it out. She keeps up the banter that transitions into small talk, but she comes off a bit distracted. Varric seems to notice as well, giving Marian a pointed look to ensure she notices, unneeded though it is given how poor Aveline's ability to obscure is compared to Marian's empathy.

As Marian settles in with her plate and spears a forkful, she asks, "So, what's new?"

Aveline's brow furrows; clearly the woman is confused about how to explain. "I... I got a promotion," she says slowly.

"Aren't most people happy about that sort of thing? I mean, I wouldn't know, being self-employed and all, nothing beats being your own boss," Bartrand doesn't count, elder brother or not, Varric does his own thing, "but I always thought promotions were a good thing."

The paladin gives him a cutting look. "Yes, it should be. It is. It's just... they're pulling me from Coalside. I'm to be a guard captain in Aurora of all districts. The only worse one would be Skysong."

"Ouch," Marian sympathises. "At least you won't have to worry about drugs so much?"

"I won't have to worry about anything!" She snarls. "Do you know what the crime rate in Aurora is? Less than a quarter of Coalside's per capita and most of that is drunken heirs, some petty theft and, horror of horrors, panhandling! Almost exactly a tenth of the population, but only half as many guards. All the bluster and bullshit about a new harder stance on crime and graft, on picking captains based on excellence and service record and they go and waste me on some bullshit political _**fuckery**_!" she's nearly shouting by the end of it, causing Varric so slowly lean back from the table. "I've dedicated near half a decade to Coalside and they're just..." She sags. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't take this on you. Either of you," she adds, waving a hand at Varric.

Marian, by contrast, reaches out to try and take Aveline's hand. "I'm sorry. I'm sure they're not meaning to -- I'm sure they did pick you based on your record. You're good at what you do, everyone knows that. I mean, this had to have been in the works for a while, right? Did the guy retire or...?"

Aveline winces. "No," she says shortly. "I-" She glances at Varric, who is carefully eating his dinner. "It's still under investigation, so don't... he was found, dead, in a brothel." Varric coughs softly as he tries to not choke on a mouthful of curry. "Non-accidental but exact details still unknown. And the investigation on that is already uncovering some.. sordid details of his conduct as a captain. His patron is scrambling to cover himself, and a rival noble has jumped on this whole affair to drive his 'strong law for a strong Nyra' platform." She scoffs. "Which some the fuck how translates into pulling me to Aurora to be paraded around like some kind of show dog.," she finishes in disgust. "I... I was up for review, figured I'd get a citation and maybe a raise. _Maybe_ a parallel promotion to day or night shift from evening. But this? Captain after ten years, only five in Nyra itself? I'm never going to shake the stench of politics from my record."

Marian goes quite still, her smile frozen in place. "I believe in you," she says, absently.

Thankfully, Aveline doesn't seem to notice Marian's reaction, too wound up in her rant. "I know why they really picked me- the visual. Home-grown Nyra going generations back, no demerits on my record, and, and here's the real draw, I'm young, female and not too homely. Guard doesn't exactly draw in a lot of lookers, so they have to take what they can, but thanks to Vangal's Grace, I'm never sick. Combine that with my exercises and training, I'm fit and unblemished." She bares her teeth. "Perfect to parade around in uniform to show off at balls and-" She growls, then curses as she feels her spoon snap. "Oh for- damnit, I'm sorry."

Varric coughs. "It's fine, it's fine. I get new utensils once a month. No idea what happens to them all really, we only break one or two a month ourselves, but it's not like they're pricey."

Marian slips her ice-coated spoon under her leg to warm up rapidly. "Sure, of course." _Did you know cold things get more brittle?_ "There's only one way to go with this one: show them you're the best. Defy their expectations."

Aveline sighs. "Of course, I'll try but... a parrot holding a mirror could serve as a guard in Aurora. All they need to do is echo the last thing a noble said to them and look pretty. I doubt being captain is much more complex so I don't know how much of a chance I'll have to display by skills."

Careful to keep his voice casual, Varric suggests, "well, there's always the murder mystery of the last captain right? Bringing him- or her to justice would be a pretty good opening move."

Marian shakes her head. "That's a good way to get yourself killed." _Shit, fuck, balls. Anders, what the hell did you do?_

"I'd be willing to take the risk but I can't. To prevent... conflicts of interest, it's forbidden for a guard to even be part of, much less oversee, the investigation of anything related to the previous holder of their new post," she says with a sigh. "Prevents cover-ups and accusations of the same. Or at least reduces them anyway."

 _Damn._ "Well, I'm sure you can find some corruption somewhere in Aurora to root out. Hells, find enough and the other nobles will be _thrilled_ to promote you back to Coalside," Varric assures her.

"Or even city-wide captain. Come up with great new systems for training schedules or filing paperwork or something useful like that -- something that doesn't depend on the crime in your new area. I bet they'll promote you right away." _Thank Astea, she's not going to arrest Anders._ "Who do they have doing the investigation? I'll feel better when that killer's caught, in case he's gunning for you next."

"I'm not sure, it was only yesterday morning when everything... kicked off," she finally finishes. "It'll probably be a committee," she says with an eye roll. "All the interested nobles will select a guard, they'll argue it down to three or four, and then they'll have to figure out how to work together long enough to actually do their fucking jobs."

"Sounds like it'll be a while," Marian says, her voice sympathetic. "Please stay safe?"

"Of course, Hawke. I'd have to actively try to even get a bruise in Aurora anyway," she adds in a grumble, then sighs. "Thanks for listening to me rant."

Varric, meanwhile, has been rather quiet. 'the stench of politics from my record' Fuck. 'To prevent... conflicts of interest' He's not going to be able to... 'cover-ups and accusations of the same' He can't bring this to Aveline. Even if she's the one to bring Anders in, it would just -- fuck. He can't even let Anders be arrested. One of Hawke's lovers kills a captain, which results in Aveline, another known friend of Hawke's, being promoted? _Gods damn it! Dross and ash... I'm going to have to take care of this myself. Quietly._

"Hey, no problem. Oh, and I've got a new job too -- we'll be new job buddies," she says, brightly. _Thank the gods, I can warn Anders to leave town. What was he **thinking**? Why didn't he tell me the whole truth? How am I meant to help if I don't know how bad it is? Also I'm the world's biggest hypocrite,_ she adds ruefully.

Aveline gives her a narrow eyed look. "A new job or a new _job_?" she asks pointedly.

She laughs. "The same kind of job I used to do for you. I'm working at a clinic in Coalside starting probably tomorrow."

"A clinic? i didn't realize you had a talent for healing," Aveline says with surprise. She smiles though. "It'll be nice to know you're still around for them."

"I'm not much of a healer, but you know I'm good at organizing." She flashes a warm smile at Aveline. "Soon, we should go out and celebrate your promotion." _Once I'm sure Anders won't die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without the mage vs templar plot, we decided to go with communism as Anders' major driving quest -- which meant we needed to go in a different direction with his companion plot. So we doubled down on the "is he Anders or Justice?" aspect of his character instead. Strap in, this is going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> This also marks the start of Marian's "language games". I may have to introduce new conventions in following chapters to handle the frequency with which she switches languages, so stay tuned.


	8. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Anders situation continues. Will Justice be served?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When language games are afoot, I will use [text] to denote text in a language other than the primary one for the scene, with the surrounding narration indicating which language it is. Let's see if that holds us for a while.

"Absolutely not. That's final." Anders crossed his arms, glaring down at Marian. _How could she even **ask** that of me? Can't she see my place is here, helping the people?_

"Anders..."

"I mean it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have patients to take care of."

Anders pushes open the door from the back area of his clinic, unaware how much the last few sentences carried to the waiting area. "Who's next? Maria, come on back," he calls, his eyes skimming right past the half-drow Merikos in the waiting room. A clearly distressed Marian doesn't bother to look up as she moves to sit at the front desk. _I hate how public this desk is,_ she thinks as she busies herself with papers to hide her expression.

"You seem tense, my faucon féroce," comes a lazy purr in her ear, even as slim but oh-so deft fingers begin to knead her shoulders and neck. "I have been remiss in leaving you and my fleur douce alone for so long, work or no."

"Good to see you too," she says quietly in Elven, as the tension starts to fade from her hunched shoulders. "Thank you."

"Even just the privilege of touching your skin is thanks enough," Zevran replies in the same language, fingers quickly rubbing away her tension. "I am sorry I have not visited lately, I... found myself with a job more complicated than expected. Very lucrative, however, so perhaps I could make it up to you with a night out for three?"

"Oh, did you not get-- no, you sent gifts. I'm only just recovered enough to go out." Marian's clearly a little flustered.

"I am sadly out of practice, and never did have much in the first place, but it is my understanding that friends, even those without our," his fingers dip a little lower and around, just grazing the sides of her breasts under her arms, "particular type of friendship, are supposed to visit and make much of one who is ill, no?"

She gives a small, dark chuckle. "True. But I barely had a minute to myself the whole time anyway. Maybe I need fewer friends."

"Oh?" He sounds puzzled for a moment, then laughs airily. "Ah, our sweet flower made herself a bit of a creeping vine, did she? She does seem the sort to, ah, shall we say... hover?"

Marian nods. "She barely left my side, Aveline visited daily, and Varric was always lurking just out of my way, in case I needed something."

Anders walks Maria back out to the waiting area. As his eyes fall on Zevran massaging Marian, his expression darkens into a glower. Seeing this, Marian pulls free of Zevran and gives Anders a small smile. He turns away, calling up the next patient: "Susan?"

Zevran, alas, is not one to back down or resist tweaking the nose of a prick. Or the prick of a prick, come to think of it. Leaning in with Marian's movement, he rests his chin on her shoulder, switching back to Common. "So about tonight? I was thinking perhaps dinner and dancing, then something sweet before a starlit walk, and ending with something even sweeter in private?" he describes, making no real effort to keep his voice down.

"Don't," she hisses, wincing.

Zevran blinks. "You are not in the mood for dancing?" he asks, straightening up away from her immediately.

"I--" she pauses, taking a deep breath. "I'm supposed to have dinner with Anders tonight." She watches some of the tension flow out of Anders' back before she adds, "But maybe if you're free, we could go for a walk now? I do want to catch up."

"Of course, I would be delighted!" he says brightly. "A moment in your company is worth a thousand in the heavens, my hawke féroce. And perhaps we can make plans for later this week?" _If Hawke is to dine with Anders, then perhaps Merrill and Isabela would be up for a night out? It would be a shame to waste my reservations after all. If naught else, the looks on people's faces when the brash and bold Isabela entered their fine dining establishment... yes, perhaps that shall be equally enjoyable._

Anders marks Susan down as a no-show on his clipboard, calling "Bill" and getting a response. He turns, pausing by Marian's desk as he goes; impulsively, he grabs her chin and pulls her in for a deep kiss before he heads for the back. Marian blushes, watching him leave, as Zevran sniffs the air deeply.

When the door shuts, Marian gets up from her desk, grabbing her bag. "Walk?"

"Strange, I do not detect even a hint of his piss. He must overhydrate," Zevran remarks as he ambles after her.

Marian snorts, getting out a few deep chuckles before she restrains herself. "You wicked boy," she teases in Elven.

"Oh yes, mistress, am I to be punished?" he asks brightly, offering a winsome pout as they exit the clinic.

"I may have to." She grins at him, winking. "I missed you."

He grins back, slipping an arm around her. "And I you. It is nice, to have friends that do not judge nor preach about... well, most of what I am and do really," he says, tone growing serious as he speaks.

She nods. "The bee instructs the flower on pollen," she says, an Elven expression that more or less means 'preaching to the choir'.

"I... must admit to be particularly surprised that you and our lovely flower are so... at ease with one such as me," he says cautiously. He'd been wondering about this for, well, pretty much the entire time, but is only now confident enough that he can address the matter without breaking some kind of illusion. Even so, he can't help but do so at angles.

"What's not to like?" Marian asks, keeping her tone lighthearted.

"Those of the village I was born in could present to you a list longer than Aveline's dry spell," he replies with a sigh. "Starting, repeating and ending with this," he says, holding their entwined hands out in front of them for a moment, the dark-tone of his own showing in sharp contrast to her Elven pale skin.

"I've seen Drow. You're not like them." She shrugs. "You are, quite literally, [a lover, not a fighter]." This idiom she repeats in Common, not bothering to translate it into the Elven they'd been speaking. After a brief pause, she adds, "As for that dry spell, expect good news soon," with a mischievous grin.

Zevran's head whips around to stare at her, his own issues blow away like chaff in a windstorm. "What! WIth who? I had begun to fear her 'flower' had withered shut from disuse."

Marian raises a hand, in the classic 'guilty as charged' position. "We're not there yet, but..."

Zevran stares a moment, then whirls around to kneel at her feet. "My lady, I realize now I have only yet begun to see the depths of your many talents!" he intones in an near religiously awed tone.

Marian laughs. "Don't tell anyone, of course. It was hard enough getting her to trust me."

And now he looks like she just ripped out his heart. Or worse, his cock. "But-but-but... _all the teasing! All of it!_ "

She rolls her eyes. "You'll live. She's... actually surprisingly sensitive. Jealous of Dandelion, a little, far as I can tell. This is..." She drops off, struggling for words. "Zevran... I know you and Isabela flirt with everyone, but you don't ever make commitments, right? It's all play?"

Zevran bounces back to his feet, playful expression gone. "I cannot speak for Isabela's deepest heart, but I am fair sure we both agree that neither of us wish to ever be bound or limited in any way. It is not meant to insult you or any we take to our beds, we simply... It is simply not our way." He shrugs. "Sex means very little, when you distill it to what it truly is." _And I've killed far too many people while still covered in their scent, limbs still tangled, to romanticize the act even in the slightest._ "Worry not for bruising our hearts, we discarded them long ago."

Marian nods. "No, I get that, I'm not worried about you. You understand about Merrill and Isabela, and she understands about both of you, and so on." She hesitates again. "It seems like most people... people who are not like you... they long to be bound. Ah, not in the sexy way. But they're looking for that someone to spend forever with. Is that... in your view, a fair assessment?"

Zevran considers that, suppresses the four jokes and three come-ons that arise from 'long to be bound,' and nods. "Yes, most humanoids have a desire to mate and breed. It can be... burned out of them, but such is rather rare, I think. Even Isabela and I still seek company, if for not the same reason as most."

Marian nods again. "But what I do... Merrill knows what I'm doing. And she doesn't complain about it. But.. am I being unfaithful? Should I want to marry her and forsake the others? What is this thing I'm doing? I just kind of... collect people. And I can't imagine living without any of them. But it's not normal, what I do."

"You are, I think perhaps asking a biased witness," he says with a smile. "But I will say this- you are not normal. Not your life, your deeds or your family. Why should your love be any different? And more, why should you want to be normal? You are Marian Hawke, blood of elf and human, daughter of a dwarf- and yes, everyone knows, it's obvious even if neither of you will admit it- beloved of a star-addled elf and moral compass of a bed-warming assassin drowblood and an undine pirate captainess without a ship. What you are to the lovely guardwoman... let only you and her be the ones to decide that." He pauses, then amends himself, "you, her and Merrill, as I would say that the only... wrong step would be to try and hide who you love from the others you love. If the three of you are happy, then all the world can piss of together!"

Marian fairly glows -- both with the intensity of her blush, and with the brightness of her smile. "Moral compass? That's so sweet." She presses a kiss to his cheek before she goes on. "You'll want to add protector of a troubled healer, and the daughter part is admitted now. I got the family stories yesterday."

"Really? What's today... blast. Isabela won the pool," he mutters before intertwining their arms again to continue walking. "I shall make note and update your status as Papa Wolf's admitted daughter," he assures her. No comment on the other part. Anders is an ass, in his book, and full of his own angsty-ego stroking. Still, if anyone can fuck the brood out of him... well. It is true that Isabela or himself might be the better at the actual fucking part, but Hawke has this way about her... "To return to our stalwart and most virtuous of companions, I would simply advise you to be as open and truthful to them both as you can. And use plenty of lube, it's probably quite rusty at this point."

She laughs again, despite herself. "You're horrible," she teases. She drops back into her native Common for a moment to discuss his word choice: "I'm going to call it [lube] forever now, by the way. That just sounds so much more poetic than talking about [grease]."

"Isn't it?" Zevran keeps her in Elven -- Marian's expressed a desire to practice more, after all, since Merrill's native language is Elven. "It's a bit new, but it's catching on rather quickly. 'Lubricant' is far too long but 'lube' is very nice. It even feels smooth. And 'grease' has too much 'rendered dead animal' to be appropriate for... well, most people's tastes, to each their own if all are willing," he says with a shrug- and a slight shudder.. Ring of Regeneration or not, that had been one kill he'd been more than eager and happy to finish.

Marian notices the shudder and holds up a hand. "Please don't tell me."

"I assure you, it is not something I wish to dwell on," he says firmly. He hums thoughtfully. "So... does she dye her hair? Or perhaps she prefers the elven style?"

"Don't know yet." She grins. "But she's seen the goods and she seemed to approve." She makes a face at herself. "I sound like a night lady. You're a terrible influence. I'm going to have to hold all my sex conversations in Dwarven now just to make myself sound halfway respectable."

"That would be a shame, as I lack that tongue," he says with a sigh, then, "perhaps Varric would be willing to let me use his?"

She about chokes on laughter. "He doesn't want to see that!" the phrasing and mannerisms come out very Varric; she doesn't bother to translate from Dwarven as she switches back to Common. "Though he speaks Elven, I found out while I was still addled from my incident."

"Does he? There go my plains to innocently slip naughty things into casual conversation in front of him," he says with a sigh. "[Perhaps I need to teach you this instead]," he breathes in her ear, the soft, wispy language of air elementals caressing her skin.

She gives a shiver, instinctively glancing about the street to see if anyone's noticed them. "Whatever that was... maybe I have a few minutes before Anders will notice I'm gone?"

~*~

She ends up spending a good hour at an early lunch break -- something Anders really isn't happy with. Since their dinner date was a fabrication, however, she ends up offering to stay late and help him close up shop. Meaning a good hour and a half after she was meant to have gone to her lesson with Wynne, she's still going through paperwork with him. Or well, not right this second she's not. Right this second, she's gone to secure a valuable scroll that was misplaced in the back -- meaning she's not up front with Anders when Varric arrives just before closing.

_Finally. Fucker's been out like a flash every night since he decided to drag his little girl into his shitstorm. Looks like he's finally starting to relax, secure in his arrogance. Maybe he's even heard that they're looking real hard at one of the girls at the brothel, a particularly unlucky kitsune girl who happens to have largely than normal claws in her fox form. The only thing saving her is the lack of motive. Not that Anders would probably care. After all, it's not his fault, it's Justice's! Ass._ Secure in the protection offered by a few infusions, Invisibility and Barkskin among them, he carefully studies Anders to allow his training and innate ability to read people to provide the right moment, the right placement to deal maximum damage to the fucker. Once he's sure he's got a good read on the murdering, daughter-using bastard, he quickly pulls out another vial of a more potent and less fragile but shorter lasting invisibility infusion. He downs that, then quickly applies a dose of Ragespittle to his bolt. That way, even if he lives through the first two strikes, the toxin should cause him to go berserk and attack his own spirit.

"Alright, that's done," calls Marian as she makes her way back into the room, dusting her hands off on her tunic as she walks. "Ready for dinner?"

_**FUCK!**_ He barely has time to react as he sees his daughter step into the room -- _why is she here?!_ \-- and his bracing hand twitches, just a little. Just enough.

Time slows.

The bolt whizzes toward Anders's head. That strange feelings comes over Marian again, like she's underwater, like everything is so far away -- sound is muted, time stretching into one impossibly long moment. This time, there's no screaming.

The temperature plummets, the room doing its best impression of midwinter. She springs into action, but her body is like molasses, she'll never reach it in time. She can't pluck the bolt from midair. It'll hit him. Trust Anders, something tells her, so she turns away, following the trail of the bolt backward. The twist throws her off balance, and she missteps, but she doesn't care, her eyes fixated, trying to find--

There's no-one there.

She flings her arm out anyway, her palm facing where a man should be standing. A slick of ice flies outward from her hand to the floor, slickening it; she feels the ice reaching out toward the invisible assailant, trying to entrap, to cling. Some part of her stores away this feeling to explore later. No person appears.

The bolt misses Ander's head by a scant inch. Varric stares for a moment in horror. _If that had grazed him, the toxin... He'd have attacked anyone nearby, be they friend or foe. Fuck!_ He has to go, that attack, miss or not, would be enough to dispel his longer-lasting infusion, giving him less than a minute left before he's visible. _Fuck! Another time, bastard,_ he thinks sourly before fleeing... right into the ice patch Hawke cast. A part of Varric can't help but be proud of his girl. The rest of him, mostly his arse, mostly just feels slightly frostbitten. But he's gone now, out in the street and vanishing into the evening gloom. _Alright, need to come up with Plan C, evidently. Fucking Anders._

The bell above the door dings as the door swings shut. The assassin is gone.

Marian hits the floor with a pained grunt. For a moment she's stunned, something nagging at the edges of her consciousness. Time resumes its normal march, and with a lurch, her stomach heaves. _Anders!_ She rolls over, stumbling to her feet as Anders stares at her, wide-eyed. Justice appears, stalking toward the door in case the ringing was a ruse. Marian gasps for breath, relieved.

"You're alright!"

"I am," Anders manages, swallowing hard. "That was--"

"Don't touch!" Marian warns him, seeing Anders' hand move toward the bolt embedded in the wall beside him. She moves closer, spying the telltale glint of poison. "A glove."

"Al-- Alright."

As Anders starts to leave, Marian chides him, "Now do you believe me? You have to leave town. Though admittedly, I was expec--" Her heart leaps into her throat. She knows that bolt. She knew that ker-thunk, back when her mind was preoccupied by saving Anders. She knows the smell of that poison.

'Varric?' she mouths, but doesn't say.

 

~*~

Marian's heart clearly isn't in her lies today. She's not sure why she's bothering. It's not like the truth would hurt anyone more than herself. It's not like Wynne will believe her anyway. Even Merrill probably doesn't believe her.

"No, we have no idea why someone's gunning for him."

Anders shrugs. "Perhaps my roguish good looks?" To be fair, he does look fairly good, but that's mostly the tomcat in his arms, who he hasn't stopped petting since he got to Wynne's home.

Wynne merely studies them both impassively, a stern looking compelling them to confess. Merrill is more direct. "It's probably because you're a fledgling anarchical terrorist," she informs him helpfully.

"He's not a terrorist," Marian says, her voice oddly flat.

Anders frowns at this poor defense. "In any event, I'm currently looking for some place to lay low while I wait for this to blow over."

This gets Marian's attention. "No, you're looking for a way out of Nyra."

"I told you, Marian. I can't leave Nyra. My work is here, and my friends are here, and... and you're here." He smiles at her, looking a touch nervous. "If you... if you'll still have me."

Marian blinks at him. "Of course. I love you."

Merrill frowns a little as she watches the pair. She's maybe not the best person to ask and maybe it's not her place to make judgements but she's not sure she likes Anders. For herself or for Hawke. Oh, that's probably not very nice...And... oh dear. She feels kind of uncomfortable now, hearing Marian say... that to him. She's met Anders, and she likes that he treats his spirit so politely. And the whole clinic thing is also very kind of him. But still. He feels... hmmmm...

"That's all very touching, but that doesn't address the danger you're in. And, by extension, the danger you put those around you in," Wynne observes. "Time... away from the city is the best idea for now, given you say that you've no leads on this assassin."

Marian nods. "Exactly. I can't hunt this guy down with you still hanging around."

"What, and let you face him alone? No way." Anders gives her a hard look. Marian returns with her best 'are you kidding me' look, but he shakes his head and continues. "I'm not going to let you do this alone. I'm going to be here, in case you need healing, or... or anything else. I already got a taste recently of life without you, Marian. I'm not letting you go again."

Marian's glower melts. "Anders..." she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Marian. I never want to lose you. I've been... I was going to wait for a more romantic time, but..." He takes a deep breath, fumbling for words. Finally, he takes her hand, putting down Pouncer to get on one knee. "Will you.. will you be my partner? For life? I mean -- will you marry me?"

Merrill raises her hand, and while her voice is as airy as always, her eyes are a frozen sea of stars. "I object. I know I'm supposed to wait for the wedding, but I don't like to waste time anymore. So... I object."

Anders shoots a glare at Merrill, waiting for Hawke's reply. Which he doesn't have to wait long for. "WHAT?!" she shrieks, her voice as shrill as a siren. "Are you out of your MIND?!"

Wynne slowly sighs as the idiot boy proposes. "Romance is hardly the flaw in your timing, young man," she comments dryly. "For one, assassins make poor wedding guests."

Merrill opens her mouth to offer forth her studied and completely unbiased opinion, but Wynne grabs her knee tightly. "Indoor voice, if you would," she says mildly. "But continue."

Anders looks like he's just been... well, shot in the face. Marian's heart lurches, but he recovers before she can apologize. "I don't' see why it's so crazy to love you! To want to start a family with you! Marian, you know how I feel, I don't know how you didn't see this coming?"

Marian shakes her head. "This isn't about love," she says, bitterly. "This is about not wanting to give up on your dreams."

Anders shakes his head. "To hell with it! You want me to leave Nyra? FIne. I'll go. But only if you come with me. Only if you'll be my bride." Marian doesn't respond, and Anders' voice grows raspier, more desperate. "Would it really be so bad? Being with me? Having kids with me?"

"And what about me?" Merrill asks, not trying to hide any of the hurt or anger she's feeling. "What about Varric? And Aveline and Wynne and Zevran and Isabela and all of her other friends?"

Anders doesn't take his eyes away from Marian. "None of you can give her what I can."

Marian scoffs. _What, babies? Who says I even want babies? Especially right now?_ But Merrill's words ring in her ears. 'What about Varric?' she'd asked. Yeah, Marian, what about dear old dad? She deflates, her face falling as her heart squeezes in her chest. "For a little while. We'll come back," she says, her words ringing hollow in her own ears. "I won't leave Merrill alone, not like... I promised. But we can take a trip, together."

"And...?"

Marian's eyes cloud with tears, but she gives a small nod.

"No!" Merrill shouts. Her eyes are normal again, but overflowing with tears. She springs to her feet and rushes outs of the room towards the front door.

"Merrill!" Wynne shouts, reaching for her but far too slow to even touch her, much less grab her.

"Merrill!" Her lover's name is ripped from her throat, as she races toward the door.

Anders catches her hand, holding her back. "Let her go. She needs time to grieve."

Marian stares out at the street. _I just got engaged. Why does it feel like heartbreak?_

It's then that Wynne, having finally gotten up, smacks their combined hands with her handy rod. "Quiet, you idiot boy. Marian, run."

Anders starts to speak up, but Marian runs as soon as Wynne speaks up. "Stay here! Don't go out! Wynne, guard him!" she calls over her shoulder, and then is gone, chasing Merrill as fast as she can run. "Merrill!"

~*~

Merrill has a bit of a head start, but it's hard to run with eyes filled with tears. And it's quickly evident where she's heading- Marian's house. Varric's house. She's not quite fast enough to stop her before she yanks open the door, but she catches up just as the elf stumbles into house. Marian grabs Merrill's hand, trying to stop her. "Please, Merrill, talk to me! I promised I won't leave you, please, please, talk to me..." She's babbling, begging, sobbing, but she doesn't care right now what the neighbors think. There's only Merrill.

"I-I t-t-thought youuu l-l-loved me!" The elf sobs as she... collapses into herself, falling into a miserable ball of misery just inside the door.

Marian drops to the floor beside her, trying to drag her into Marian's own arms as she croons in Elven, "Of course I love you! I've always loved you! Merrill..."

Merrill sobs brokenly, painfully managing to force out a few words at a time in elven. Strung together, they approximate something like: "but then why cast me away? What did I do wrong? I'm sorry, I can be better."

"I'm not casting you away, dear heart, my first love, my dearest soul. You're perfect. You did nothing wrong. I'll come back to you, I promise. Nothing will change." Marian begins peppering Merrill's face and hair with kisses, trying her best to cheer her.

"But you- he said- can't give- and married," she weeps, clinging tightly to Marian.

With all the noise they're making, it would be easy for someone to sneak up on them. Which is why it's rather telling that Varric manages to alert them to his presence before he even opens his mouth. Boots off, overtunic missing and shirt mostly unbuttoned, he looks like he got half-undressed and decided 'fuck it.' He's also got a three-quarters empty bottle of goblin rotgut in one hand and Bianca in the other. "Who the fu- Hawke," he says blankly. "Oh. Uh... Wait, did- is that Merrill? What did she- married? The fluck is going on?" He's slurring a little, his voice coming out lazier, his eyes struggling to focus.

Marian doesn't so much as look up at him. She focuses on Merrill, holding her close. "Shh, dear one, my soul embodied, I never meant to leave you, not for an instant. Anders wants to give me children, and they can't inherit unless we're married. That's all. I'll still love you. I'll still be with you. For ever."

That Varric focuses on. "What the Abyssal ass-scrubbing brush **fuck** is going on? Did you say- Anders's children? Crazy terrorist with the serial killer ghost Anders?"

Merrill sniffles, her grip on Marian not loosening in the slightest. "But he said- I can do that- I- I wwwwant a baby with your smmmmile," she whimpers. "Wwwwhy does he-he get t-to-tooooo," and she breaks down into sobs.

Marian glares icicles at Varric as she rubs Merrill's back gently, soothingly. "My _fiancé_ , Anders." _May as well be hanged for a murderer as a horse thief._

"...I'm new to the dad thing, do I get veto? Is that still a thing? Did I need an extra form or...? When the fuck?!" Varric glares down at the bottle in his hand. "Shit, is this one of those waking nightmare things?"

Merrill continues to weep against Marian, overcome for the moment by very intense but conflicting emotions. Marian sighs. "Dearest. Beloved. Please... I need to leave now." she murmurs to Merrill. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Merrill's grip tightens on Marian's arms. Hawke had not thought she was quite _that_ strong before now. After a moment, the second sentence trickles in. "... together? P-promise?" she warbles.

"Can we revisit the part were you're engaged to crazy?" Varric asks pointedly. _This is... regrettably too consistent and detailed for a nightmare._ "Marian, are you serious about... this? Him? That?"

"Promise," swears Hawke, ignoring her surrogate father. "Please, I need to be away from here." She bows her head, her hands shaking where they hold Merrill. _I have to leave town. No time to pack -- I'll grab the things at Wynne's place. Merrill can come with me. We have to go, right now, get out of the city. Otherwise... otherwise someone will end up dead._ She can't think his name. She can't look at him right now. She doesn't know who will die, but any of the three of them dying would... would be... _If I had to kill..._ "Please."

_I... can't deal with- oh. Oh yeah..._ Varric fumbles in his pouches as Marian tries to coax Merrill, and finally comes up with a vial and some tiny pellets. A quick mix and- and fuck now he's sober. And this is all still happening. Damnit. Marian is still cradling a weepy Merrill on the floor, Marian is still very much not looking at him and Merrill is... not really reactive, but finally seems to at least be paying attention to what her lover is asking.

"Marian, please tell me what's going on," he says slowly, his voice crisp now and his tone very careful.

"[Suffocate to death]." she snaps in Dwarven, trying to pull Merrill up onto her feet. She changes back to Elven for Merrill's benefit: "We're leaving, dear heart. Together, you with me."

"That s-s-sounded angry," Merrill says worriedly, though she does let Marian pull her upright.

"Just a little," Varric says with a wince. _Guess she might have figured out..._ "Look, can we- damnit, Marian, think this over! He. Killed. A. Guard-captain! And blamed it some prostitutes- one of them is probably going to get life, if she's not executed as some political power play. Does he even care?"

"[Do you?! I--]" she begins in Dwarven, before breaking off, turning back to Merrill. "Let's go pack," she tells the elf.

"And what about you? Does he care that if he does get caught, that you're get pulled in? Or that Aveline will get, at best, fired? Do you care?" he snaps, striding after them. Varric doesn't bother using Dwarven; he speaks Elven just fine, thanks.

Merrill wavers a little, looking between the two of them. "What is he talking about? Does he mean Anders?"

"[I hope you choke on dust and drown in your own spit, for saying this in front of Merrill]," she snarls to the Dwarf. Her voice comes out angry, but her eyes flood with tears. "[Leave me alone!]"

"What? Doesn't she deserve to know who she'll be sharing you with? Doesn't she deserve to know that there's a damn good chance you'll never be able to come back to Nyra? Or that Anders will kill more people for his damn cause?" Varric is having none of this- this stupid delusional bullshit.

"Marian, what he is saying? Why did you say my name? Marian, please explain!" Merrill demands plaintively.

She finally lets go of Merrill, turning to face Varric. There's frozen hell in her eyes, and she lifts her open hand like a weapon. "I will never. Abandon. Merrill." Her voice is low and cold.

"Good," he says bluntly. "She's the most loyal, forgiving soul you'll ever have in your arms. She doesn't deserve you hurting her for someone like Anders." His eyes flick to her hand and... Bianca vanishes into his glove. "Go ahead. You know damn well I won't attack you back," he says quietly.

Moving very slowly, Merrill reaches to take that hand in her own. "Marian, you're scaring me. Both of you are scaring me. Can we... just talk?"

"I don't know that!" Hawke's voice rises in pitch again, becoming tighter, more strained. "I don't know anything anymore!" She pulls her hand away from Merrill -- but not before the elf can feel how cold her hand is.

Merrill flinches a little, but reaches for her hand again. "Marian, please," she asks soothingly. "I love you. You know that," she offers, trying to smile but not really succeeding.

Varric bows his head. "...I didn't... I couldn't think of any other way to keep you safe. Aveline can't touch this, it would destroy everything she's worked for. I couldn't risk hiring someone, they might have talked and then it would lead back to you. I... and I knew you wouldn't walk away. Because you're you and you can't not... care."

"Congratulations. You'll never see me again." Despite everything, despite the anger she tries to lace into her voice, it breaks on that second sentence. Trying to keep what dignity she can, she turns away, taking Merrill's hand with her own --now warm, if a bit clammy.

"I..." Varric falters, his words failing him. "Marian... I...please."

Merrill looks from Varric to Marian and back again. Moving to her lover, she tries to pull her into a hug. "I'm here, my guiding star. Will you let me help you?"

Marian starts crying in earnest, pressing her face against Merrill's chest as she starts trying to move her feet away from Varric. Her chest aches; every heartbeat sounds like it's calling out, 'Varric! Varric!'. But she can't. _He tried to kill Anders. He didn't tell me about it. He didn't trust me._

_Is he right? Some small part of her asks. He didn't even try to kill Carver. Is Anders so much worse?_ But she can't bring herself to consider that, not right now. She has to get back to Wynne's, or it might not matter anymore.

Twisting her head around to look at Varric, Merrill says firmly, "I will keep her safe. And I'll write you. We'll come back, I promise."

Behind them, there's a soft thump as a dwarf sags against a wall and slides to the ground, weeping silently.

~*~

Anders watches Marian go for only a moment before he turns on Wynne. "What was that for?" he snaps.

"Merrill does not 'need time to grieve' she needs the woman she loves most," Wynne says firmly, turning to head back to the living room. This night... was she this foolish when she was young? She know she made mistakes, careless and poor decisions, but this bad? Bah. "And you, young man, need a great deal of help."

"How will giving her false hope help? Marian's agreed to marry me. She can't be the one to comfort her ex." Anders sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It pains me to hurt her but.."

"Ex?" Wynne snorts. "Nothing short of a deity's direct intervention would cause either of them to abandon the other," she informs him. "And if you think otherwise, perhaps you don't know Hawke as well as you think." Or should, given the question he asked her.

"Again, agreed to marry."

"So?" she asks with a shrug. "I can't say I understand their... lifestyle, but it's clear they've chosen to include more partners than is the norm. From last I've heard, Merrill is mostly with Hawke, but also takes Zevran to her bed, with and without Hawke. And as for Hawke, she has... a half dozen or so lovers she regularly entertains, all of which she considers to be valid relationships. Not the same, perhaps, but all valued." Reaching the living room, she picks up her tea to take a sip.

Anders sighs. "We've discussed her dalliances. I overlooked them while we were... but I need to know any children I raise are mine. I told her, I am looking for someone to settle down with. She knew what she was agreeing to."

Wynne turns back to give him a curious look. "Did _you_ say that or did she say that? Because that sounded like you said what you wanted and you're assuming she agreed. Did she ever actually say she would break things off with her other loves if you marred? Because her reaction didn't seem to indicate you had broached the subject at all," she asks pointedly.

"We hardly had time for a long discussion just now, but yes, I believe she knew what I meant. I've mentioned before wanting to marry her." He sounds a little testy, but maybe he's anxious -- he's glancing at the door every few seconds, still standing, seeming jittery.

"Could you close that?" she asks, noticing the door still open. "I dislike having the front door open. And how did she react, when you brought the subject up prior to this night?"

Anders moves to shut the door. "She told me she would likely never want to settle down. I am pleased to discover she was wrong."

Wynne stares a moment, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You do not think, perhaps, she felt... pressured in anyway to agree? In order to prevent your death?"

"I'm not about to die if I stay. I'll be careful. Besides, she was crying with joy."

"No," the elderly woman says bluntly.

The healer turns to glare at her. "What do you mean, no?"

"I am an empath, and _that_ was not touched by joy or happiness of any kind. She was feeling guilt, desperation and resignation. And a touch of shame and betrayal."

"Betrayal?" he echoes, dumbly. "Desperation?" He doesn't reach for Justice, really he doesn't. Justice just... appears, behind him. Watching him, silently.

Wynne's eyes flick to the phantasm but she doesn't summon Rhys. Yet. "Yes. She was not happy you asked, nor happy to agree," she reaffirms. "I cannot be truly certain, as I do not trespass upon the minds of my friends without invitation, but I suspect she only agreed because she thought it was the only way to ensure you agreed to flee Nyra despite your cause, to save your life."

Anders looks down at his hands. "If that's true -- even a little..."

Justice rests a segmented arm on his shoulder. Anders flinches. "No. No, I have to go after her. Someone like Marian only comes around once in a lifetime."

Justice watches him, silent, judging.

"No," he whispers, softer. "Please."

"You should not beg your phantasm. _You_ are their anchor, their focus. Command, lead, guide, do not beg or bargain," Wynne snaps at him, wary of the.. perils of what occurs when a spiritualist cannot control their phantasm. Just in case, she silently starts to materialize Rhys.

Anders straightens, but his gaze seems to slide off into the middle distance, not looking at Wynne any longer. "I see." His tone is flat, and unlike before, when he speaks, Justice speaks along with him - a hissing, buzzing insectoid sound, undercutting and adding a bass note to his normally tenor voice.

~*~

Marian's tears have dried by the time they reach Wynne's front door. She looks... pale. Exhausted. But determined. She pulls free of Merrill, pushing open the front door -- just in time to see Anders/Justice turn toward her.

"Marian." Their combined voice stops her dead in her tracks.

"...Anders?"

"It is good to see you are well. Come. We must get you to safety." The phrasing is all Anders but the voice, the echo... the oddly flat tone...

"Merrill, rogue phantasm!" Wynne barks, backing away to by time for Rhys to appear.

The shaman's eyes widen and she instantly snaps out a phrase in Sylvan. A split second later and Justice and Anders are both covered in exceedingly gooey mud. It's so thick and viscous, it not only slows their movements, it also blinds them.

Marian turns to Wynne. "What-- what happened to him?" she asks, her voice small and broken. Anders begins coughing, clawing the mud off his face. Justice does the same, more methodically cleaning his face in silence.

"He's surrendered himself to his spirit, allowing its obsession to overwhelm his sense of self." A beat. "He's being possessed," Wynne simplifies. "We need to disable Anders!"

Merrill nods, biting her lip. _What should... I... no, Daze only works on rats and things. What about... I could... maybe a lightning bolt? Wynne always has Breath of Life studied, every day... oh, oh oh!_ A wondrous array of lights, dazzling and alluring, wash over Anders and Justice in a cascade of colors.

Anders stares at the pattern, unable to tear his gaze away; Justice, on the other hand, starts toward Marian, moving slower due to the mud. Marian takes a half step back, and Justice speaks to her, Anders mumbling along with him despite his dazed tone. "Do not fear. You will be safe. Then I will return to complete my mission."

"Anders... No, Justice. Justice, listen to me. We're taking Anders out of Nyra. We're going to keep him alive."

"No." says Justice, simply.

"Don't make me fight you," she warns him, holding up a hand.

"If you do not wish to fight, do not fight."

Merrill had been hesitant to attack Anders because Marian would be upset. But Justice is just a phantasm. He can be resummoned just fine. So...

CRACK-A-TRHOM!

An arc of lighting the width of Merrill's wrist twists around the doorway to slam into Justice dead in the chest.

Marian shrieks. "Don't hurt Anders!" she snaps, "Everyone just-- just stop, right now!"

_Varric was right._

_**You're not helping!** _

Marian takes a deep breath as Justice stops, turning to face her. Interesting -- it's listening, at least. "Wynne. How do we help him."

Wynne's next words are in Orcish, hoping that Anders doesn't speak it. "Right now, we need to knock him out to dismiss Justice. Or do so directly with force. After that, we can help him, possibly." _Just a little more time..._

Next to her, Merrill repeats the same phrase in Sylvan, but no bolt responds. She's ready though, if that mean phantasm tries to so much as touch her brightest star.

Marian lowers her gaze to the floor. "Go ahead," she says in Elven, quietly, to Merrill "Just don't hurt my betrothed. Only the spirit."

Merrill nods, a slight wince at _that_ word She then flicks a hand at the phantasm, calling into two more bolts that impact it, even as she mutters another phrase to conjure sheets of flame that fill the room. The wall of fire is careful to interpose itself between the rogue spirit and the two elven females, while not threatening Anders.

A few seconds later and an massive figure wearing semi-translucent white armour from crown to sole appears next to Justice. "Rhys, protect them!" Wynne calls out, sagging slightly at the feeling of being parted from her phantasm for the first time in a very long while.

Things happen rapidly then. Rhys and Justice dissolve into pitched combat, with Merrill continuing to lob bolts and then a few minor spells as she can. In the chaos, Marian almost misses the crossbow bolt smack into Anders's thigh, but she can't miss him suddenly snapping out of the rainbow spell. Or him flailing about for about five seconds, then passing out with a thud, causing Justice to vanish.

"Oh. Is... oh!" Merrill ends her Wall of Fire spell. "Right then. Ummm. Is... everyone okay?"

Marian, seeing Anders collapse, rushes toward him, sitting on the floor and pulling him half into her lap. Tears drip onto his face as she checks his pulse and breathing. _No. NO, not again, don't be dead, please don't..._ Thankfully, it doesn't seem to be poison. He doesn't seem to be wracked with pain or turning blue or.. he seems to just be asleep. This time, she notices the bolt design right away.

_I have to put a stop to this. One way or another, I'm going to lose one of them. Already lost one of them, but at least he's alive. I can't... if the only way to save Anders is to kill Varric, I... I don't think I can do that. Leaving Nyra might work, but even if we take Merrill with me... never seeing Zevran again? or Wynne? Or Aveline? There's no way Aveline comes with us, not when she just... But I'd have to stop Varric. And he won't stop. Not ever. I don't know why he's doing this --_

_You do,_ some small part of her whispers.

_\-- but I don't think even now I can bring myself to... to hurt him. So... So... I have to choose. I have to either cut Varric out of my heart, or cut out Anders._

It's weird, the next thought she has. It's a vision of herself -- short hair, tanned skin, and giving her best 'are you kidding me' look.

_Anders didn't try to kill Varric,_ she protests to herself.

_No, just you. And everyone here at Wynne's place._

_That wasn't Anders. That was Justice._

_Then what he needs is..._ Marian takes a deep breath, then another. "Is there... some way to separate Anders from Justice?" she asks Wynne, quietly.

Wynne looks away from where she's staring fondly at the massively built armoured knight -- the spirit of her departed husband -- to glance at Marian. "It.. is possible to unbind a spirit, though it will leave Anders with... a hole in his being," she says slowly. "But..." she frowns, thinking. "There is something... wrong, with Justice. Something beyond his independence... I need to study him. Can you tell how long he will be down?" she asks.

"Hours, not days," she says, her voice cracking, raspy. "Less than half a day."

"Step back then. I'll have Rhys carry him to... Merrill's room, I suppose. Fetch my healer's kit, the one with the blue lid. Some oil of taggut should keep him down until we can figure out a path forward..." She trails off then, clearly mulling over options and tests. The spirit knight drifts over to Mairan and Anders after giving Wynne a deep and respectful bow, clearly intending to obey Wynne's commands.

Marian looks down at Anders. For a moment she pictures scooping him up and running, keeping him close and hiding him herself. She could go to Isabela, or to her mother, or... _Wow, those are some spectacularly bad options,_ she realizes. _I can't just... not trust my friends. I can trust Wynne... right?. Wynne never let her down, Wynne never... Damn these tears!_ Slowly, with obvious effort, she pries her arms away from Anders, letting the knight take him.

Rhys is... not tender, exactly, but he lifts Anders with almost professional care. "My Wynne shall save him," he says suddenly, voice like a storybook hero's. With that announcement, he heads for Merrill's room.

As Marian heads for the healer kit, she notices Merrill isn't in the house. "M-Merrill?" she calls out, suddenly feeling quite alone indeed. _Varric would never.... would he?_

As soon as she gets to the door, she sees them both. Merrill has her arms crossed and appears to be... scolding the dwarf. Who is staring at the ground and flinching, rather a lot. Bianca is still out, but held only loosely by the stock towards the ground. Honestly looks like she's winning, not that Varric appears to even be trying to put up a fight of any kind. Neither are raising their voices, if Varric is even replying, so she can't make any of it out but... yeah. Merrill seems fine.

Marian stares at the scene a moment, then wordlessly walks inside. She looks.... tired. There's some light in her eyes, something in her carriage, that's just... gone. She usually carries herself like a capable young warrior, but now... She's only twenty or so, and it shows. She won't meet Wynne's eyes; she looks haunted, frightened, and sad.

Wynne takes the case and quickly does Anders with her proscribed tonic. After setting this down, she promptly turns to Marian and pulls her into a firm hug. "As long as there is life, there is hope. And even then, hope merely dwindles, it does not fade away," she says softly, her stern and proper demeanor gentling.

"...yeah," she says, her eyes sliding to Anders on the bed. She doesn't hug Wynne back; she just waits out the hug, keeping her thoughts to herself.

That gets a frown, Wynne's normal attitude returning a bit. "Marian, what is going on in that head of yours right now? You may not have a spirit to run amok, but I worry for your mentality nevertheless."

Marian takes a deep breath, still fixated on Anders. For a moment it looks like she won't speak, but then... her voice is soft, timid, almost inaudible. "How could I have been so wrong about him? And... what else am I wrong about?"

"You're young," Wynne says simply. She looks over at her phantasm, a look of long tempered but still unbreaking love in her eyes. It's an expression Marian has never seen the life of on her teacher's face but somehow looks perfectly normal there. "I love Rhys. I always will. But he was not the first love I thought I had. I had crushes, infatuations and even the stirrings of what could have also been real love before he wooed and won me." She looks back to Marian and offers a faint smile. "You're young still. You'll stumble and fall, make mistakes and inflict wounds on your loved ones. But you learn and you keep trying."

"But I... I do love him." she says, quietly. "I know the difference, now. I know the difference between the obligation I feel for Carver and real love. He's a good man, underneath it all. And then... and then he hurt me. Badly. I don't know if I can ever trust him again. So... how could I be that wrong?"

"You... you are a kind person," Wynne says slowly. "Forgiving and... accepting. But even virtues can be a negative in the wrong circumstances. You love him and can thus forgive him for any wound he gives you. You love him and thus can accept any drawback or flaw." She reaches up to gently stroke Marian's cheek. "What you need to do is attempt to divorce your heart from your thoughts. If his actions were against another, if he had done what he did to another of your loves, how would you react? if he had done these things to a stranger, how would you feel? These are not easy questions, and first you should attempt to understand as much as you can, not only about their actions, but his reasons. And about your own. Understanding is, as always, the first step."

_If his actions were against another... if Wynne had done this to Merrill's lover, how would I react?_

_Why would Wynne attack, say, Zevran? Go out of her way to make sure he dies? Not out of spite, or jealousy. Not out of hatred. If someone was going to attack someone Merrill loved, it'd be because... because he hurt her, or was going to hurt her. To save her. That's about the only reason._

_And what Anders did..._

_Anders killed a guard. The captain of the guard. Anders killed several up and coming mages. Anders has destroyed property, stolen. Anders is probably the most criminal friend I have._

_But he's a good person! But I love him!_

_But the things he does... Put aside love. He does the things he does for a good reason. I understand that reason, and even agree with him -- to a point. But should I really be overlooking murder?_

_There's something dark in him. I've seen it when he looked at Zevran, when I talk to him about my other loves. Something hard, and cruel. Something possessive. Something sinister._

_I love Anders, but... he's not a good person right now. He needs help I can't give._

_And maybe Varric saw that dark thing inside Anders too._

Marian takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Can you help him? Is there somewhere I can take him to get help? Summerhill...?" The last is a place that has opened recently, an upscale clinic that specializes in mental and spiritual disorders; its patron is a Guiding Light affectionately known as The Doctor, in the style in which many Lights are nicknamed.

Wynne looks surprised, then pleased. "I'm shocked you've heard of Summerhill, given how new it is and how specific its function," she remarks. "I've had the privilege of working with the Doctor- the founder- in the past. He's even using some of our work and- yes, I think him going to Summerhill is a very good idea. But first we have to bind or sever his bond with Justice. It's too unsafe to even allow him awake until we do so."

Marian nods. "If I go to Summerhill and ask, maybe you can keep him drugged? I don't... I don't want to take permanent action without talking to Anders or at least a healer who knows this sort of thing."

"That's... understandable, but I can tell you now, we won't be able to ask Anders. I... I need to invoke more, but I think it's worse than just a rogue phantasm," she says with a wince. "But yes, you should go seek an expert. I have some grounding but... this is a very complicated case." She steps back from Marian, eying Anders worriedly. "Be sure to tell them this is a patient referral from Wynne Langnne. That should hopefully speed things up."

Marian nods. She hesitates, then plants a kiss on Anders' forehead. "I'll be back soon, my love," she whispers, before she goes to grab her spare cloak and head out.

~*~

The next hour or so passes in a blur of activity. Marian comes back with a couple aides from Summerhill; Anders is moved to a room there, a quiet second-story location with a view of the garden, not that he'd appreciate that while unconscious. Marian sits by his bedside, holding his hand while he sleeps, as Wynne discusses with The Doctor himself, who readily responds to summons when told the gravity of the situation. Nobody wants a case like the one they had a few years back, where someone's manifested phantasm went on a rampage and tried to kill a good number of passers-by on the street before the Doctor could stop it.

There's a treatment, however, as The Doctor explains. It's only been successfully performed once, but in theory it may be applicable to a case like this. The ritual will put the participants to sleep; they will enter into a shared, lucid dream, one taking place inside the head of the primary focus. While in the mindscape, they should be able to interact with the subconscious processes inside the patient. This should allow them to defeat Justice symbolically in Anders' head, giving him back the control he needs... for the time being.

As The Doctor explains his experimental treatment to Wynne, and Merrill picks up Zevran for comfort on the way in, an eager assistant has a word or six with Marian. When Merrill gets to the room, she finds Marian laid out asleep next to Anders, while the aide sits on a mat in the corner meditating.

When Merrill's calmed, there's only one clear course of action: go in after her, with less preparation than they'd have liked.

~*~

Merrill finds herself alone in Coalside. This isn't the Coalside she knows; it's a grim, dark prison, claustrophobic and strange. The people walking by eye her with grim suspicion and distrust, murder in their eyes but their hands stilled by their side. This is not a friendly place.

There's no sign of Zevran, at first. There is, however, a brothel just down the street that sounds... cheerier than the sidewalk she's on. Hugging herself tightly, and wishing deeply that Anders had met Bob at some point so he could be there, Merrill quickly hurries towards the sounds of laughter and revelry. Hopefully Varric, Isabela and Wynne are okay too... _oh, and Rhys. It was very nice to see him in person- or should that be in spirit? oh, but that means something else already, hmmm- even if the circumstances were very bad. I should make a point of asking Wynne for a proper introduction some time soon._ Allowing her thoughts to ramble, just a little, so she doesn't have to focus entirely on the hate/disgust/freak _(get out/ what's wrong with you/ this is supposed to be our future shaman? Future shame, more like! No, she shames us already)_ , she's almost running by the time she enters the brothel.

Thankfully for her, Zevran's there; he awoke in a tavern full of rather attractive young men, which... why there's no women is a little odd, but them's the breaks. Seems like he's having a much better time. As she enters, the people nearest the door turn toward her, their laughter fading into hostility.

"Ah, my lovely summer flower," Zevran says gaily, then frowns a little. "Strange, that was in elven when I said it and yet..." Putting that aside, he begins to slip through the crowd with long familiar ease.

Merrill stays in the doorway, trying not to draw any more attention to herself. Once they're reunited, she pulls him into a desperate hug. He's honestly a little... off-balance about all this- mindwalking and murderous boyfriends with crazied mind-ghosts or whatever the geeks were going on about. And being someone's emotional support is a little outside his custom as well. Still, he can fake it easily enough, and hopefully that serves Merrill's needs for now. "There-there, sweet Merrill. We must find our wayward Hawke, no?" She nods tightly, squeezes him one last time, and lets go.

"Alright," she says softly. "Let's... find them."

Out on the street, Zevran finds his reaction less warm. It seems as long as he stays in the brothel, the lighting is warm and comforting, the crowd comments gay and innuendo-laden, the sound quality loud and warm. But when he leaves... the street is lit in cool colors, as though it's night and a full moon. When they speak, their voices sound thinner, harsher. The air is colder, as if it's late autumn. And the faces of passers-by are no friendlier to him than they are to Merrill. The message is clear: stay in your place, don't venture forth.

The horizon looks strange, too. Where the taller buildings of the Skysong district should be visible, instead they see what appears to be a jet-black castle, complete with gargoyles and ramparts and twisting, ominous towers. Well, that's probably where Hawke went; it's clearly the direction worth going. But everything about that direction seems foreboding. As soon as they cross over into Meadow, the crowd turns openly hostile. People begin to attack them on the streets, though thankfully there are fewer of them than in Coalside. The people... they look fine, normal, to their minds, but also somehow look like shadow puppets with blank faces. How can that be normal? It just is, somehow.

They meet up with Wynne in Meadow; she appeared in her own house, and is having the same troubles they are with the passers-by. The addition of Wynne is a blessing twice over, as she was able to bring Rhys along with her. Zevran is a skilled combatant, but really only for one-on-one fights. At the least, he needs someone to support him and by herself, Merrill is not up to the task. Her Evil Eye hex is able to ensure a foe can't land a hit, but she can only do that to one person at a time and... well.

Rhys smashes into the trio of Faceless Citizens that had surrounded Zevran, allowing the elf to withdraw. Merrill, crying out in relief, continues to pelt them with her sling as Rhys mauls them with his massive- well, it's an oversized claymore, which is ridiculous, but blunt edged. So... massive sword-club? Whatever it is, it's fairly effective. Wynne is a little behind Rhys, but quickly makes her way to Zevran, hand already glowing to heal the cuts and bruises he has, especially that last one he'd just gained, a long gash over his right eye.

A second latter and she cries out as the gash appears above her own brow before fading. Panting at the suddenness of the injury, she quickly -- and firmly -- forbids Merrill from any healing, instructing her to focus her efforts on attack and defense instead.

As they get into Bedrock, home to the upper crust of Nyra, a new type of faceless yet totally normal person starts appearing. This one is a Knight, wearing coal-black armor with burning red eyes; they attack on sight, and while they know far less about fighting than the shadowy figures from Coalside, they wield hefty, gold-plated maces that deal a ton of damage when they do hit. It seems these figures are rich; they have belt pouches full of coins, and that fullplate is clearly enchanted, but they don't know the first thing about tactics, and are easily outflanked by a group. Or, it turns out, someone really good with getting knives into chinks in armor. They run into Isabela as she neatly finishes dispatching one of the monsters, Varric at her back with Bianca. Weird -- there's a small group of faceless shadows nearby, watching the fight but not rushing in to strike at them the way they had Merrill's party.

The two groups exchange 'what the fuck is up with all this' quips and other, far more useful, words (mostly Wynne and a strangely taciturn Varric). They continue on through Bedrock, fighting the... are they the guard? Faces hidden behind their offices (helmets), unskilled and overpaid, and propped up by the wealth of their noble backers... yeah, that sounds like what Anders would view the guard as. Probably just as well they didn't call Aveline in for this little jaunt, she'd probably break his nose on general principle.

Finally, they reach Blossom Field, which is mostly replaced by a huge river-like moat. Crossing the bridge is perilous due to the dragon that growls at them, every scale bearing a miniature of the Guard Shield that symbolizes their office. That's not symbolic at all, no...

Across the moat, they start into the castle, passing under an open portcullis. Or at least, some of them do. Isabela, Verric, and Zevran get through before the portcullis slams down, cutting off Merrill and Wynne from the rest. A moment later, a trapdoor opens under Merrill's feet, and the pair of them tumble down into a dungeon. Great.

The fight on the way up from the dungeons is probably harder than the non-mages' battle through the castle corridors, but magic and spirits are powerful resources. Either way, both groups are exhausted and worried as, separately, they reach large, imposing doors to what is probably the throne room. That's gotta be where Hawke is, right? Shouldn't they have seen her on the way in if not?

The martial party arrives first, pushing open their door to reveal a large, open space, broken up only by great columns. There are long windows of stained glass, letting in sunlight, and between them are tapestries with Panis zi'Ulthis' face on them. The whole place is opulent, a grand throne room for a grand king; along the walls, however, are long tables where shadow-people are coming to receive money, goods, and papers from other shadow-people. It seems the former king's wealth is being broken down and redistributed to the poor, here in the very seat of his power.

And on the throne, sitting pretty with a brown tomcat in his lap, is Anders.

Hawke stands at the base of the steps, his only petitioner. And on the dias, larger than life and cast in black shadows instead of his usual colors, is Justice. The thri-kreen looms over the throne itself, watching Hawke carefully from behind the throne -- a literal shadow puppeteer behind Anders.

"Anders, you have to come to your senses. Justice is--"

Hawke's voice cuts off as Justice leaps over the throne, landing between her and Anders. His voice is no less creepy in this reality, a deep bass underscoring his normal chirping/buzzing cricket voice -- a voice that sounds a lot like Anders, but transposed down an octave or two.

**"Justice will be done."**

"Oh do be quiet," Zevran moans. He is, one hundred percent, totally and completely done with this. He has been stabbed, beaten, choked and slapped (okay, that one is actually kind of nice). He has evidently done all this while in the mind of a crazy misogynist fuckwad with delusions of his own majesty and many other numerous failings that likely includes inability to perform without being on top. And the reason he's even here? Seems entirely hellbent on getting herself killed out of some foolish devotion to the aforementioned fuckwad of many failings. He likes to consider himself a man that accepts what comes with grace and charm (and a lethal form of patience) but even one such as he has limits. "I do mean that in the nicest way possible, but shut all forty-two kinds of fuck up."

Varric, strangely, doesn't comment, but Bianca is aimed directly at 'Justice' and he's clearly ready to attack if it so much as twitches in Ma- Hawke's direction. Wynne, seeing how badly the martial team is faring, heads for them along the sides of the room, gesturing for Merrill and Rhys to stay where they are in order to flank if needed.

Justice barely twitches in Zevran's direction, his intent focused on Marian. Anders moves, sitting up from his casual position, clutching the cat tightly. "Justice.."

"What if I don't like your kind of Justice?" snaps Marian, striding toward him, her hand swirling with blue light. "What if I just want my lover back the way he was?"

**"Then you will die."**

Anders jerks at that. "What?!"

Marian glares up at Justice, undaunted by his size. "Try it. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen today, not by a long shot."

Justice attacks, stabbing at her with his wicked claws, and she fires a beam of ice at him in response. Between the snow flurries kicked up by her anger and his shadowy form, the ensuing fight is a blur; as soon as it begins, the citizens rush in to aid their king's knight, attacking the rest of the party and keeping them back from the center stage.

For his part, Anders tries to get up from his throne and help her. "Marian!" he cries, with real anguish in his voice. Ropes of shadow lash out from the throne, binding his arms to the armrests, his legs to the bottom. He struggles against them, but cannot break free.

The crowd seems endless, punishing, but thankfully not too hard to overcome on an individual basis. It's only together that they make up a serious threat. Which is probably symbolic.

Abruptly, they stop coming. They draw back from the fight, all eyes turning back to the center of the room. The ice is gone now; the room is clear, if still chilled.

Justice cradles Marian's body in his arms, her blood vivid red against his dark body.

"No," whispers Anders, blood draining from his face.

Justice lays the corpse at his feet, in a grim mockery of a bow. As the body touches the ground, it shatters into countless motes of light and shadow. Varric lets out a howl, the first sound he's made that wasn't a terse answer to a tactical question since before they started their Delve. Rushing through a small cluster of Faceless Citizens, he begins to bludgeon Justice with Bianca, which has suddenly shifted into a massive clockwork greataxe with gears made of ice.

Merrill has a 'moment' of her own, as a massive ray of blazing starlight shears off Justice's right arm just past the shoulder. Zevran and Isabela quickly move to cover Varric, making sure the enraged dwarf isn't swarmed under while Rhys protects Wynne and Merrill. As Justice is distracted by this onslaught, Anders rips his way free of the throne. "You killed her," he whispers, as his arms pull loose, the shadows holding them ripping to shreds.

"You killed her!" he screams, as he pulls his legs free.

"No," snaps Wynne, the most angry anyone's seen her. "You killed her."

Anders stares at her blankly for a moment, and then his face falls. "I've done... such horrible things..." he murmurs, eyes filling with tears.

"Maybe stop doing them?" snaps Isabela, dodging a blow from Justice. "Just a thought."

Anders looks up again, seeing the fight renewed. His face hardens; he raises a hand, and a spear of pure light appears in it. He throws the spear, piercing right throw the shadowy form of Justice, which dissolves into motes of darkness.

Varric staggers, his target gone. Axe-Bianca scores a line across the floor as he reorients himself. Seeing Anders, he hefts his weapon and starts to attack but fades away before he can take more than five steps. Everyone, except Anders himself, fades away at the same time as the mind healers sense the ritual's goal being completed and end the process. Within seconds, everyone is gone.

Leaving Anders alone with a crowd of faceless no-ones and a pool of blood at his feet.


	9. Questioning Beliefs, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wake up. All except Marian.

They wake up. All except Marian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, they settle her at Wynne's, making her as comfortable as they can in the bed. The Doctor offered to keep her at Summerhill, but nobody wanted her to be near Anders while he recovers; they want her to wake up to comfortable, familiar surroundings.

That first week, Wynne's parlor becomes a tense waiting room, where the group struggle to make conversation beyond 'she'll wake up, right?' and 'she has to be okay'. On the second day, after they've tried the usual round of spells again (in case you just have to wait a day), Isabela speaks quietly to Zevran, breaking the ice with her blunt, casual charm: "So, who's this Anders guy, anyway?"

"Many things, it seems. A revolutionist of some kind, something about everyone having the same number of coins to their name," he replies just as softly. "A healer in Coaltown as well, and, for some reason, one of Hawke's... lovers." He shrugs. He shouldn't judge her for it, given that it is the same quality that fools her into accepting his tainted skin, but despite himself, he cannot shake the sight of Merrill's eyes, broken and lost.

"A murderer, a careless, selfish killer," Varric says harshly, proving that a whisper isn't enough to prevent the dwarf from hearing you talk in the same room as him. An even harsher laugh. "And evidently more important to Hawke than all the rest of us."

Merrill flinches, her face buried in her knees, curled in a ball as she leans against Wynne, silent and listless.

"Fuck 'em both," Isabela says, casually, as she stretches. "It's her business who she bumps uglies with, but I've seen this story play out enough times already. First it's, he only hits me when he's drinking, and then before you know it she washes up dead on the docks at high noon."

Merrill whimpers softly, causing Wynne to stroke her hair as she regards Isabela. "Hide your concern if you wish, but I would thank you to take more care with your words," she says gently, tilting her head pointedly towards the elf.

Zevran, however, is more caught on Varric's response. "That is... well, I must confess, as you all must surely realize, that I am also a murderer. As are, I suspect, many or even most of all of us. What makes him --"

"His damned Justice killed a guard-captain, so he framed some whores then ran to Hawke to make it better. Neither of them spared a single thought to how this might hurt anyone else. Just tried to sweep it all under the rug to keep him safe," Varric says bitterly. "Doesn't matter that it could cost Aveline her entire career if it got out her new promotion came about because the lover of her best friend offed the previous holder. Doesn't matter if she ends up getting killed, jailed for life or has to leave town forever. So what if she has to leave behind her entire life and everyone she 'loves' as long as Anders is okay, right? So what if she has to lie to her family, go behind their backs and abandon them? Anders is more important. Her _fiancé_ is more important."

Even Merrill is staring at him by the time he finishes, caught off guard by how... venomous he sounds.

"And here I thought I was special," Isabela says, still irreverently. "I guess she hushes things up for any poor sap makes eyes at her."

"But not to m-- there's a helluva difference between not noising about a few extra crates in a hold and covering up a very public and very political murder," Varric snaps at her.

Zevran shrugs. "It is true that Hawke can be the soul of discretion-- though also a terrible gossip-- but... this did rather get out of hand, no? Still... she would not be Hawke, if she did not lose all reason and restraint when someone she cares for needs help," he says with a sigh.

Merrill sniffles loudly. "I just want her back," she whispers, returning her face to hiding.

~*~

The third day, people have to go about their normal lives, even if they'd rather sit around and worry about Hawke. Someone remembers to put a sign on the clinic: closed until further notice. Merrill, of course, lives with Hawke now, and Varric rarely leaves; Anders being at Summerhill, that just leaves Zevran and Isabela on the outside of this little drama. Or so they thought.

Isabela smiles at her newest table -- 'it's a guardswoman, look lively', the barkeep had warned, so she'd stopped chatting with Zevran and headed for the table more promptly than she would have otherwise. "Good afternoon, welcom-- Oh, I remember you. Aveline, was it?"

"Yesss," the guard says, clearly trying to place the waitress. In her apron, she's a far cry from her adventurer look, so it takes a few moments. "You're... Jezebel? Hawke's friend," she adds, straightening. "Where is she? Have you spoken with her in the last few days?"

"Not as such. It's my understanding she's ill, again," she says, casually. "Something about catching something from the guy who runs the clinic downtown -- Andrew or something? Wynne's treating her."

Aveline chokes on her own spit as she stares at 'Jezebel.' "What?" she demands. "Anders? She and--" she falters, not sure how she should feel about this. Or if she has the right to feel anything specific. "I... see."

Recalling what Hawke had shared just before some evil wizard had cast an epic version of Summon Shit and Wind, Zevran ambles over to the booth. "Aveline, what a delight! I gather our winsome friend here is sharing the woes befalling dear Hawke? Rather nasty, the diseases one can catch in the tunnels under Coalside."

The paladin stares a moment, lost. "Tunnels?"

Isabela pouts slightly. "Ah, that's right! She and Andrew went spelunking together and caught something. Nasty business."

Zevran gives her a 'you're naughty' look. "Something about rare mushrooms? I confess I didn't really pay attention. Probably some kind of healer tonic, I suspect but," he shrugs, then leans in a little. "But my dear shining knight, surely you are not dining al--"

"I will smite you," she replies instantly and automatically. "But about Hawke, is she okay? Can't Wynne heal her?"

Isabela's smirk fades. "We'll find out. The guy is in a clinic himself, I believe, uptown. Seems he got the worst of it."

Aveline pales a little and Zevran... winces a little. "It... well, it does look like she's recovering, but it's slow," he admits. "It might not be amiss if you wished to... visit. Merrill, at least, could use the support."

Nodding, the paladin rises. Not really thinking, she drops a few coins-- three silver and a handful of copper, enough for a score of meals here and far more than the meal she didn't order yet-- before walking away.

Zevran helps himself to one of the silver coins. Isabela pockets the rest, watching the woman leave. "I didn't realize she'd caught Hawke Fever as well..."

~*~

By days three and four, hope is wearing thin. Isabela vanishes, as she does sometimes -- some job or another, some trip out of town. Anders' landlord is told of his intent to vacate; his things are moved into storage, waiting for his recovery, if it ever comes. Aveline joins the rotation of people visiting, though she doesn't know the whole story -- and none of them know if Marian will wake up again. She doesn't respond to Wynne's spells or Merrill's spirits.

By day seven, there's serious talk again of moving her to Summerhill. She's not a burden for Wynne to look after... yet. She swallows broth and water when given it, and as a healer, Wynne is a capable nurse. But... there are people in Summerhill who have not woken for years, will never wake up. For that kind of care, full-time, it might be best to hire professionals. Or....

But it's only been a week. Surely it's too early to pronounce doom. Surely there's no need to think about merciful endings.

~*~

As always, it's three in the morning when something wakes Varric. At first, he's not sure what it is. He doesn't have to use the facilities. He doesn't need food, not urgently. As for comfort, he hasn't slept in his own bed in a week. This armchair is comfortable enough.

About to go back to sleep, he hears the sound again -- a soft whimper. A very humanoid whimper, not Merrill's damn puppy. Varric is up and next to the bed before his brain fully registers what he's doing. He hasn't been doing well. He can't get past the hurt, the sight of his-- of Hawke walking away from him, back to... back to her fiancé. Past the sight of Hawke in a trance, the sound of Merrill sobbing, the look of disappointment on Wynne's face. The feeling of jagged rock in his chest and dust in his mouth. Maybe Hawke's picked up some of Merrill's skill in hexing, because that's all anything's tasted like this last week: dust.

He stares down at Hawke, at his... "...you awake yet? Merrill needs you," he mutters as he looks her over.

She doesn't respond. Not right away. Her chest rises and falls in the even, calm manner in which she's been this whole week. Just as he thinks he must have dreamed it, that she must be asleep, her lips part ever so slightly, and another sound escapes: "'rric..."

The quiet sound is nearly overshadowed by the grinding, grating crunch of stone thundering in his ears but he can still hear it. Had to hear it. Has to answer. Gently taking her hand in his, he answers in a soft whisper. "Yeah. I'm here. You're safe. Please wake up."

Her hand twitches slightly, then twitches again. It curls around his, ever so faintly. "Varric," she whispers, but this time, it's not a question -- it's more of a contented sigh.

Oh fuck. He can't... He just... Girl's magical talent isn't cold, it's _this_. "Alright, Marian. It's alright. Rest a little more, but just a little: Merrill is waiting for you and seeing your pretty eyes would be the best way to start her day, okay?"

Her hand tightens on his, her eyelids fluttering as her breathing catches, speeds up. "Merrill." That one's still soft, but it's afraid, and the fear makes it come out stronger.

"Safe and sleeping," he says quickly. "Cuddling up with that fool mabari pup. She wants to call him Falcon of all things. Pup can barely walk in a straight line and she wants him to soar," he continues softly. "Wynne is fine too. So are Isabela and Zevran. And Aveline. Everyone is safe," he soothes her. He pauses then, mouth twisting. Finally, he forces himself to say, "Anders is... okay. Safe."

She doesn't seem to react, not until he says 'Anders'. Then her hand tenses again, trembling slightly in his grip. She lets out a small, strained moan -- a whimper, whether in fear or despair. Her hand goes limp in his, and her eyes stop struggling to open.

Varric's heart shatters again. _His name. Of course it's his name she needed to hear the most, him the worry she needed--_ His mind, his wonderful, clever merciless mind slaps his fears and sorrows aside a moment. That wasn't a restful sigh, a peaceful untensing of worried muscles. That was someone being faced with a fear, a regret. That was someone being reminded of why they should give up. His doubts surge back, trying to convince him he was right the first time. That she's making the same choice again. That... that she was lying about more than just her new job that afternoon.

But he's trained himself too well. He can fool himself for a time, can lie to himself once or even thrice. But eventually, he picks it apart. Eventually, he cuts through it and can finally see what he's too afraid to hope for again.

His hand, which had been almost pulling away, tightens around hers as he whispers in Dwarven. "...It's alright, daughter. We are here for you. You are loved. Ancestors, mantle and core, you've fucked up but it's fixable. I promise we can fix this. Come home to us. Merrill and I, Aveline and Wynne. We're all here, waiting. Come home."

Again, it seems there will be no reply -- but then he notices teardrops sliding down her cheeks. Almost as soon as he notices, she shifts in bed, turning slightly toward him -- as if she wants to roll onto her side, where she normally sleeps, but can't quite manage. After that attempt, her hand tightens on his, almost a consolation prize.

Varric debates with himself a moment, then decides it's worth risking. "Marian, I'll be right back okay?" he repeats this twice, pauses, calls in Bianca and rests the crossbow in her other hand. "Here, Bianca will keep watch for just a minute, alright?" he tries to joke before pulling away.

She seems to understand. Her hand closes faintly around Bianca's smooth wood, and a faint twitch of her lips seems to be in the upward direction. Still, after he's been gone a few seconds, she lets out a small cry -- the cry that awakened him, a yearning. He's already returning to the room by then, with armful of still sleeping elf to boot. He hadn't bothered to wake her-- she's been getting five hours at most each night and she's wearing down hard. Always been a deep sleeper, and this has just made her harder to rouse. Depositing her on the bed, he stores Bianca away with a muttered thanks and arranges the pair as he has, to his regret, too often seen them sleep. That done, he sits himself on the bed and reaches across to take her hand again. "There. Even better, yeah? Figure she's comfier than a crusty old dwarf," he says softly. Merrill, still asleep, cuddles into Marian out of habit and instinct, a pleased murmur slipping from her curving lips.

Marian seems to settle again when he takes her hand. She cuddles up to Merrill, but she keeps a firm grip on his hand, just in case. Slowly, she relaxes into this position, her breathing evening back out again into sleep.

~*~

It's food that wakes her next. The smell of breakfast rouses her, gently, from her slumber. She untangles her arm from Merrill, frowning slightly as she blinks. _What day is it?_

_Let's see, I think I'm allowed to have solid foods. Yesterday I got up and sat at the--_

Her eyes widen as she stiffens. No, she's not still recovering from the gem escapade. She got out of bed. She started her new job, worked it a few days. And Anders...

And Varric...

She wilts against the pillow, her hunger gone. _I guess... I guess I'm on my own again,_ she thinks to herself. _I'll always have Merrill at least. Maybe we should move? Go somewhere new, start over. Less painful memories._

A low, rasping snore- so endearingly familiar- breaks the flow of her thoughts. Peeking over the elf still cuddled in her arms, she sees a familiar dwarf. Well, the top of his head, as he appears to have fallen asleep leaning against the side of the bed, one arm sticking out towards them. Yeah, he's going to be one fused block of aching muscle when he tries to move.

_..Varric?_

A pause as her tired brain tries to sort through this new reality.

_...how long was I out?_

She pushes herself to a seated position, looking over at him. _That can't be comfortable._ Merrill, robbed of partial cuddling contact, wiggles over to press her face into Marian's belly. _Hey, who put her in these admittedly cute but granny pajamas? Seriously, they cover everything, like more than her normal clothes. Wait... oh, right. Tired thinking is hard._

Gently, Marian reaches to press her fingertips into his shoulder, shake him just a little. _He'll be mad at me, I'm sure, but..._

Varric mutters something offensive in dwarven at the first shake, as he tends to. The second poke gets more of a reaction, to say the least. He tries to shift away, which evidently requires the use of his body. Shame that. With a pained 'hurk' noise, he twitches, stiffens, whimpers then goes still. "Merciful stone, bury this pious dwarf," he moans in his native tongue, trying to recall why in Aldis he'd overindulged so badly that his body feels like--

He snaps upright, his back emitting a chorus of pops and cracks, as he blurts out, "Marian? Is my gi-" and then he sees her. He starts again, this time in Common: "You-- Hawke, you're awake. All the way awake."

Said Hawke flinches when he stops himself, looking at her lap. "I'm okay," she whispers. "Um, maybe you should get Wynne..." _Stupid. He's just waking up from a dream. He doesn't..._

"Oh. Oh, are you-- are you in pain?" he asks, looking like he's about to bolt. He shifts, then flinches as his back spasms, eliciting a muttered curse in orcish. "Do you... remember... everything?" _How would she even know, Varric? If she can't remember something..._ "What do you remember last? Do you know where you are? Who... you, are?"

"No, no pain," she assures him, her voice gentle. "I remember..."

_Congratulations. You'll never see me again._

Her eyes cloud with more of those stupid, unproductive tears. She wrings her hands, trying to stop them from shaking.

_Anders. Is he okay? Is he alive? Did I-- no, I can't have helped. Not if I got..._

"I died," she whispers. "Did you-- I can pay back the gold, I swear, just give me some time," she begins, nervously.

Varric's jaw works for a moment, but he doesn't say anything. Finally, he asks, "...do you... want to... owe me?" It's faint but there's a slight emphasis on both 'owe' and 'me' in that sentence, as if those words mean more than they normally.

Hawke frowns at the emphasis, then her eyes widen.

_No debts between us._

"Varric," she whispers, heartbroken. She struggles for words for a moment. _Don't leave it at that. Don't leave things like this._

"I know I'm..." She pauses, struggling visibly. "I'm not what..." _Don't be trite._ She shakes her head, starting again. "I... you shouldn't have brought me back." Self-loathing brings words forth where compassion, desperation failed. Her voice is a harsh whisper as she continues. "I'm not worth it."

Varric slowly relaxes, a tension that has nothing to do with the ache in his back lessening. "Silly girl, you have any idea how hard it is to find a good assistant in this town? Or-or-or to train her just right? No, you're stuck with me a long while longer." Not as smooth as his normal jokes, and a noticeable fumble. But he's smiling a little, even if it's only just reaching his eyes. He coughs a little. "And you didn't die. Just... a little coma. For a week or so."

Her shoulders slump in relief. "Oh, g-good. I t-totally lied about h-having the gold." Her voice doesn't sound anywhere near playful enough, but the effort is there.

"Eh, you'd find it somewhere. Probably a tomb or something," he says softly. "Everyone made it out okay. You were the worst off." He scowls, then blanks his face. "Even... " _Oh just say it, you craven little bitch._ "...your..." _fuck it_ "healer friend." _Tch._

She smiles faintly at the reference, but it fades rapidly. _Healer-- Wynne? She was in danger?_ She thinks back, digging through her blurred memories. _I remember seeing.. Varric was there? And Merrill? And--_

_Anders._

Her face falls into that tired, resigned expression he'd seen on her face after Anders delivered his news. That hopeless, empty gaze.

The dwarf studies her face for a moment, trying to follow the chain of emotions she's displaying. "...it's taken care of. The... captain. Zevran and Isabela went and found a feral wererat in the Undercity and we.. arranged for him to be blamed. Made sure he'd killed before, he deserved the sentence, even if not for that crime exactly. So, the investigation is over. And... he's at Summerhill. Being treated. They... that Doctor guy sounds pretty skilled, says he can do something for him in time. Years. But... in time, yeah." The words spill out in a rush, and he can't met her eyes, but otherwise there aren't any signs of evasion or deceit. "So you can just... rest. Everything's okay."

Marian flinches again. _Being treated._ "I..." _I failed him. Just like I failed everyone before, with the gem._ "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I should have come to you in the first place."

"...yeah, well, you didn't," he snaps, then winces. "I didn't... maybe. I'm no oracle or deity to see the past and wander around in the what ifs. If you had.. I probably would have pushed to confront him. Wouldn't have thought to bring Wynne, so we wouldn't have know his Justice-thingie was the problem and... we'd have had to kill him, most like. This... fuck, maybe this was the best route. I don't know. No-one died, you managed to wake the prick up enough to get off his ass and help, and it's even started the nobles on a tear about policing the Undercity a bit more. So..." he shrugs helplessly.

She just stares at her hands, silent. Empty. _Maybe I should have let Varric shoot him. They'll never forgive me for this. Things will never be the same again._

_Bethany..._

_I fail everyone, eventually._

Varric watches his Hawke's face. _Okay, she's.. really quiet. Realllllly quiet._ "So... uh, you... want me to get everyone else?" he asks after a minute or so. "I mean, Wynne and Merrill are here, obviously. But Aveline drops in for breakfast so she should be here soon... and after her shift, for that matter. And Zevran is here at least once a day. Isabela drifts in and out, but she's out of town on a job these last few days," he rambles. "So yeah, everyone's going to be thrilled your awake. I think I even caught Lady Lawful with a tear or two once."

 _Thrilled..._ "I... I don't..." she whispers, staring at her lap. "...Maybe I need a nap."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, that's fine. if you need more rest, you can... rest more. They'll wait, I mean, they might not be very patient about it, but they will. But, uh, you... want breakfast first? Some solid... okay, more solid-ish food, probably do you good," he coaxes.

 _They might not be patient.._ She takes a deep breath. "I don't s-suppose you'd run interference? Tell them.." _that I already know I'm a worthless piece of shit?_ She blinks back tears. "Tell them I know, and I'm sorry?"

"Hey, that's a talent of mine," he says with as smile. "But to be honest, I don't think any of us are really, you know, actually upset. Mostly worried and... hurt. But not angry," he adds quickly. "So... sleep or breakfast or..?"

 _Not angry?_ She looks up at him, misery etched into her face. "You're... not?"

"Your little cheerleader and number one fan there," he smiles down at Merrill, who is currently chewing lightly on Marian's pajamas, "might have pointed out, in her own sweet and merciless way, that my little, ah, archery project was pretty damn close to exactly the same kind of 'not asking for help' and 'self-sacrificing stupidity' as what you did. So. Yeah. Kind of pulls the teeth out of being angry." Merrill has phrased it as proof she's his daughter, which had also felt like having a jagged shard of granite ground into his chest, but did douse his temper pretty cleanly.

 _Archery..._ "I wouldn't call that self-sacrificing," she says, quietly. "More like Anders-sacrificing." She regrets saying it -- she shouldn't make light of the situation, but... he survived. They all survived. Everyone's okay. Slowly, that's sinking into her addled brain.

"..yeah, I.... I ... well, you're too smart to have not figured it out eventually. I knew you'd... probably leave but... you'd be safe and still have everyone else so... I was alone before, I'd get along," he explains with a wince.

She looks up, startled. _He... expected...?_ By the end of his sentiment, her surprise has abated. "You would," she agrees, softly, her voice strained. "You'd be... You don't need me." _Not like I need you._

He glances at her. "Not to survive, no," he agrees simply. _Spell it out, she's not- don't make her fucking mine through your words, she's just out of a slagging coma._ "Wouldn't be much of a life, but I'd... exist."

"You said yourself." _Elaborate. Maybe you misheard. No, you didn't, just... just push through this._ "You were fine before you met me." Her voice cracks, but she clenches her hands on the coverlet, fights to keep composure.

He jerks a shoulder. "If you're born blind and have never seen color, you don't miss it. Once you do..." He shrugs again. "Even... beyond that, I... best years of my life have been since you ran into me and burst into tears," he finally admits.

At that, she loses the fight entirely -- she breaks down into big, messy sobs, her body shaking with the effort of it. "Varric," she begins, but she can't continue beyond there. Merrill, still mostly asleep, is instantly squirming around to provide hugs. Thankfully, her position around Marian's waist means Varric is able to, a bit awkwardly it must be said, kneel on the bed and hug her upper torso. "I don't deserve you," Marian whispers as the sobs begin to subside, shaking her head. "Either of you."

"Daft girl, you're worth everything," Varric scolds her in Dwarven. _I'm not crying. Just dust in my eyes._

Below him, Merrill blinks sleepily, then mumbles in Elven, "Is this another dream?"

"No, dear heart. Go back to sleep," Marian replies in the same language. Merrill is more important than her tears -- after what she did, how she hurt her, Hawke will literally jump in front of a crossbow bolt for her right now.

"Don't wanna sleep," the elf mumbles. "Want you." A slow blink. "...Marian?"

"Yeah. She's awake, Moonbeam. She came back to you. To us."

Merrill's eyes fill and she smiles broadly. "My star is back, my sky is whole," she whispers.

Varric leans back a little, dropping out of the hug but gripping one of Marian's hands instead, to give them a little space. But he's not leaving, not yet. Unless they start stripping, making out or ask him to anyway.

Marian forces the apology out through the tears: "I'm so sorry, my heart, I... I thought it would just be a moment. I thought I could handle it and come back to you. I thought... I thought I could save him."

Merrill's smile falters a moment as she looks up at Hawke. She reaches up then, gently tracing Marian's face with her fingertips. "You... thought you could do it alone? And then come back, without us helping?" she asks slowly, picking her words with care. She sounds more like she's making sure she understands, there's no accusation in her voice.

Marian winces anyway. "I'm sorry. I thought... I thought I was better than I was."

"That's okay," the elf says simply, smile back and bright as before. "I do silly things because I didn't think or because I thought it would work all the time. Like earlier this month, when I trying to practice that floating thing I can do? It turns out, it works on water, but not fog. Falling is very painful. You just made a mistake, you didn't... go away."

"But I did, I-- almost died, Merrill." She stares at her hands.

"But you didn't," she says simply. "And you didn't mean to." Her head tilts, which looks a little strange and a little perverse given her location. "And... I think I can fix that soon. So I could just get you back."

 _That's--_ "Merrill," she says, her tone suddenly grave. "If I ever die... don't you waste time on me. You keep being the wonderful creature you are."

"Okay," she says easily, still smiling. "I won't. Will. Won't and will?"

Varric exchanges slightly worried looks with Marian, and makes a mental note to bring this up later, with just Marian and maybe Wynne.

"I mean it. You have better things to spend your money and your... your life on than me." For a moment she can almost picture it -- Merrill, with a little shrine to her in her bedroom, laying in bed and refusing to get up for days on end.

Merrill frowns. "No I don't. It's just money. And it would only take a day or so at most," she argues. "It's actually rather easy, really. And I'm almost there. I could probably do it right now, if I asked the right entity to help, but in another-"

"Merrill," she cuts her off. "I've seen what that does to people, wishing and hoping and praying and waiting. Don't do that. Not over me." She glances up to Varric in a silent plea for help.

Varric takes a deep breath. On one side of the scale, he'd want Marian back too. On the other... gods above, Merrill is sounding like Ander and Leandra's love-chi-- _oh fucking hell, brain, what the fuck is wrong with you? Shit, don't even do that!_ "Merrill... you can't.. if Marian... dies. Promise you won't try anything, won't try to raise her or do anything else without Wynne and I, alright? We love her, love you, and we should be part of that," he says firmly, reaching out with his free hand to brush her hair back so he can make eye contact.

She frowns, but eventually nods. "Alright," she says a little sullenly. "I promise."

Hawke takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "You really... aren't mad." she says. It's not a question; it's more of a statement of pure wonder.

Merrill looks hurt for a moment, then confused and finally smiles brightly. "Oh, you mean anger, not... no. It hurt a little, wondering if you were going to leave for him even after... after you promised. I didn't want to doubt you, but.. I'm sorry, I should have more faith in you, my shining light."

"Never," she promises.

"Told you," Varric adds gruffly in elven, the language fitting his dwarven voice surprisingly well, not wanting to cut Merrill out of the talk. "Hurt and worried, the anger was turned to empty dust by the little wonder in your lap."

"I really do love him." Marian's voice is soft as she speaks the words in Dwarven, and she avoids Varric's eyes.

He's silent a moment, before replying, though he does so still in elven. "Then... I'll assume you know something I don't. He... might have some redeeming qualities hidden... really, really, really, really-"

"Varric," she protests with a flinch.

"...reallyreallyreally well," he relents. "Don't think I'll ever like him, or what he made you do, but you're an adult and we can disagree and still be, you know..."

"Family?" Merrill offers brightly.

"Thank you Moonbeam, for helping me preserve the tattered remains of my machismo pride."

"You didn't know him like I did," she adds, quietly. "What Justice did... it was clear to me that the spirit was in control. It wasn't the man I loved."

Deep silence. A cough. Merrill wilts a little, then speaks. "About that... ah, it turns out... well, that Doctor guy and Wynne, they figured out that... there wasn't a spirit. I mean, Justice wasn't a phantasm, or rather a normal one. It was... Anders. His... repressed violent side or something. I can't say I really followed the details, it was all pretty heavy psionic meta-arcana and psychology stuff. But it was all him, just... the worst parts, all made into a... thing."

 _Justice... isn't... a spirit? He's... part of Anders?_ "... I think... maybe we should have breakfast now," Hawke says, trying to force cheer into her voice.

"Yeah, breakfast sounds great. And Aveline will be here soon- hell, she might even smile if she sees you up," Varric says brightly. "Merrill, why don't you go make sure Marian has a place to sit, and I'll help her out?"

The elf hesitates, clearly reluctant to move, but finally rises and leaves and Varric goes to help Marian stand after a week abed. Curative magic helps retard muscle loss a great deal, but it's not perfect and she's still rather stiff at first. As she starts to find her balance and they head out, he speaks again, voice gentle. "If.. if it helps. When he saw what Justice did, he stood up and denied it. Denied Justice, I mean. Thing just... fell apart. A bit late maybe, but... I guess he did... care about you."

Marian flashes Varric a shy smile. "Thank you," she whispers.

~*~

Wynne embraces Marian tightly, but refuses to serve her anything but broth; Marian barely complains, happy to be alive and welcomed back into her strange family after her failure. She's content to let them talk, much as she was just after Aveline carried her here, after...

 _Focus on now,_ Hawke tells herself, pretending to care about what Merrill's spirits have been up to while she was out.

They help her to the couch after eating, tucking a blanket around her. It isn't long after she's set up that Aveline comes calling, ready to sit guard for a while. Unfortunately, Rhys was the closest to the door when Aveline arrived, and, trying to be helpful, he simply let her in. So the first Aveline knows of Marian's being awake is seeing her sitting up right and smiling faintly as Merrill plays with Bob on the carpet. Wynne is cleaning up the kitchen and Varric has been convinced that maybe he should actually take a shower with water instead of getting Merrill to use a quick cantrip.

"Hawke!" For once giving into emotion, Aveline fairly lunges across the room and grabs Marian up for a full-on kiss. Marian squeaks as she's lifted, but wraps her arms around Aveline tightly, kissing her right back. When she's freed, she smiles breathlessly at her.

"Hi."

"Hi," Aveline says back daftly, then her eyes widen in horror and she tries to jerk back. Her head snaps around to look at oh-gods-Merrill-was-right-here-and-she-has-no-right-what-is-wrong-with- why is Merrill beaming at them and is she clapping?

"You don't hate me," says Marian, giddy.

"What? Why would- for getting sick? Why would I hate you for getting sick?" Aveline asks, bewildered. "No- I- I just kissed you and why- why are you happy?" she demands of Merrill.

The elf blinks. "Because you love her? Hawke deserves to be loved. And I like you. And you're nice to me." Her smile falters. "You won't... you won't try to... marry her? Just for yourself?"

Aveline just... stares. "...no?"

And back to smiling. "Then I'm happy!"

 _Oh. She doesn't-- okay._ Marian reaches up to stroke the side of Aveline's face. "Merrill knows about us, Aveline. I don't lie to any of my weird, eclectic family."

"What? I just-" Aveline closes her eyes and groans. "You... you break me, Hawke. I don't know if its good or bad, but you break me."

Marian flinches, pulling free to sit back down. "Sorry -- still a bit dizzy."

The paladin doesn't even hesitate, capturing her hand before it can withdraw, she envelopes them in a brief gold and steel colored glow. "I- sorry, it probably won't help, healing never seems to fix that last little bit after a bad wound or illness," she says, stepping back afterwards. "I just... it's good to see you awake. I..." she flicks a glance at Merrill, Bob having vanished into hiding; they both remember the brassiere incident. "I don't want to lose you," she murmurs.

"Thank you," she says, softly.

"I... we do need to talk," Aveline says quietly. "About.. a few things. But I would like... I don't want to lose you. Or.. give you up and- well, I'm not- that is to say, I..."

Merrill giggles softly from a few steps away, having rise to watch them eagerly, which gets an annoyed glare from the human woman. "This isn't easy," she snaps, then winces. "And- I- I also need to talk to you... about... this. Us. I mean-"

Merrill blinks, confused, then lets out a low 'oooooh.' Aveline falters, which means that at least her mouth was closed when Merrill leans in to kiss her. Aveline freezes solid until Merrill leans back. "That was okay," she announces. "You should kiss back though, that would make it better. Hawke can show you if you like. Or Zevran or-"

"Merrill!" Hawke snaps, sharper. "That's not what she meant."

"It's not?" she asks, clearly puzzled.

"No!" Aveline shouts, making Merrill flinch a bit. "I meant, us sharing Hawke. Sharing... Hawke? I can't believe the words I'm saying are coming from my mouth," she finishes, mostly to herself. Merrill looks really confused at this point, sending a pleading look to Hawke for help.

Hawke is too busy studying her lap. "Can... Can we not do this now?" she asks, in a small voice.

"Yes, of course. I hadn't planned... I just wanted to say we need to talk, soon. When you're better and.. ready. But... soon, please," Aveline assures her, tone soft and accepting. She then glances at Merrill and adds, "and... we can talk later as well. About Hawke." A pause. "Maybe with Hawke as well," she finishes.

Merrill nods silently, still confused but willing to let the two of them take the lead.

~*~

Aveline leaves after spending some time with Hawke; she promises to tell the others the news, warning Hawke they'll likely visit soon but saving Varric the trouble. Then, as she's setting up a board to play Checkers with Merill (because, let's be honest, she wants to see how well she can think through things, as she's still feeling a bit fuzzy in the head, and checkers is relaxing), there's another knock on the front door.

When Rhys comes to the door and announces, "A 'Carver' to see you," Marian's hand jerks, sending pieces flying. "Sorry, what?" Over her shoulder, she can hear Merrill mutter something under her breath in Sylvian. If she glances back, Merril would be staring (too) innocently at her.

Rhys stares at her blankly- if he has an expression, it's well covered by the ten or so pounds of more of ectoplasmic metal surrounding his head. "A human who identifies himself as... Carver. He is armed, but peacebound. Is he a threat?"

"No, no. Let him in." Marian shakes her head, turning back to Merrill. "Be nice. We'll send him on his way as soon as we can." she says, quietly. Her draconic is halting, but serviceable; she's still learning.

Merrill bats her eyes at Hawke for... reasons? Is she trying to flirt? Not getting the reaction she was aiming for, she pouts but nods. "If he tries to [stab you gut with sord] then I'm going to lightning him though," she warns Hawke, the middle words clearly mimiced from the Dwarven she doesn't speak.

Marian groans, turning her attention to the ceiling. "[Brat]," she says in Dwarven, clearly not addressing Merrill.

Rhys meanwhile returns to the front door and allows Carver in. Then moves just to the side, well within quick combat range of everyone. Carver walks in, his face grim; he's wearing his armor, his sword strapped to his back. When he sees Marian, he looks relieved, then nervous; he shifts from foot to foot in the doorway, glancing around, unsure of himself. "Marian," he says, after a moment. "It's... good to see you."

"Carver," she says, blandly, not bothering to return the pleasantry.

He winces, rubbing the back of his head. "I heard you were... ill. It's good to see you've recovered."

Merrill doesn't say anything, but she does scoot around so she right next to Hawke. Without ever taking her eyes off Carver.

Marian sighs. "What do you want, Carver?"

Carver bristles. "Nothing! I just --" He catches himself, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I'll leave."

As he turns to go, Marian sighs. "I'm sorry, it's... been a long day."

"She just woke up this morning," Merrill says, perhaps in justification or perhaps in warning. "She was very sick. Mummy rot," she adds, brow furrowed. She really wishes Varric had thought to ask her or Wynne for something that matched her symptoms a little better, but mummy rot isn't as bad as most choices he might have made.

Carver flinches. "I... heard something about that."

 _Mummy rot?_ wonders Marian, not arguing.

Carver continues: "I just-- it's good to see you're recovering well. Mummy rot can be serious, and..."

"I'm not going to die," she says, quietly. Carver looks pained.

"I'll... hold you to that, sister."

Merrill sniffs a little, still trying to be upset but, well, he's being nice. Nice-ish. "She promised me already," she says kindly. "She won't leave me. So... she'll probably be here, if you come back to visit I mean. As long as you stay nice." Firm nod.

Both Carver and Marian give an awkward laugh. Marian smiles at Merrill. "I don't think Carver visiting would be a good idea."

Carver shrugs. "I don't know. Your new friend seems... nice."

Marian frowns a little. "New...?" _Wait, has Carver really never met Merrill?_

Merrill blinks a few times, her thoughts clearly along the same lines. "I'm new? We've been together for..." Her eyes cross as she tries to count. "Fourteen months? And a half maybe? Oh, is that a thing I should know?" she asks, looking worriedly at Hawke.

"No, you're--"

"Together?" blurts out Carver. "I thought you were with that Zevran guy?"

Marian shrugs. "I am. But I'm more with Merrill."

"Sometimes I am. Or we're all together," the elf explains. "Or Isabela. We tried all four once, but I fell out of the bed and then-"

"Enough!" Carver cuts in. "Mother was--"

Marian doesn't stop Carver with words. She stops him with a literal, guttural growl -- one that gets the attention of the napping puppy in the corner.

Merrill narrows her eyes. "You're not being nice anymore," she says sternly, then yips softly. The puppy darts over to crawl into her lap and growl at Carver. Even as a puppy, mabari know their duty.

The human Hawke stares at the dog. "That's-- that's quite a dog," he says, seeming more fixated on the Mabari than on Hawke's behavior.

"Yes." says Marian.

Carver sighs. "Well, I thought I'd leave you with some good news, at least."

"You're migrating to the Elemental Plane of Not Here?" Varric asks from behind Carver. His hands are empty... but empty also means ready to be filled.

Hawke the Younger jumps, turning around. "H-hello," he stammers. "It was... Barric?"

"Varric," says Marian, though whether she's warning him or reminding Carver is unclear.

"Anyway, the news is... well, it's about father. I don't know if you want me to..."

"Your father?" Merrill asks curiously, taking Hawke's hand out of instinct. Her lover's never mentioned her father, but she'd not really noticed, exactly...

 _Carver's father,_ Marian thinks, but doesn't say. "What about him?"

Carver rubs the back of his neck. "It's a little sensiti--"

"Spit it out," she says, tiredly. "I'll likely just tell them later."

He sighs. "I found... a letter from him. In Mother's things."

"And?" Varric says crisply, still flanking Carver.

"And, he's alive," he says. "Mother sent him our new address when we moved. He wrote back, at least once. I plan to go find him."

Marian nods. "I won't be up for it, I think. But I wish you the best of luck."

Carver gapes. "Marian... it's our father."

Marian shrugs. "I barely remember the guy."

THe dwarf smiles- it's not entirely nice, to be honest. A little smug, a little... territorial. "So... he wasn't nice either?" Merrill whispers to Hawke.

Carver shakes his head. "Well, I'll tell him you're alive. Mother, as well, since you haven't bothered."

Marian rolls her eyes. "Please do. I know you won't believe me, but I do worry about her."

The human nods. "Right. Fine."

Varric struggles a moment, glances at Hawke, then downgrades it. A little. "Let her know business is good too," he adds, drifting a little to the side so Carver can go for the door. You know. When he's ready.

Marian wars with herself for a moment as her brother turns to go; just as Carver's about to be out of earshot, she calls, "Stay safe."

Carver pauses, one hand on the doorknob, and looks back at her. "You too." Then he's gone.

Varric closes the door with a cheery wave. "So that was fun. Wasn't that fun?"

"I...don't think so?"

"I do not believe that was enjoyable or entertaining."

Varric glances at Merrill, then Rhys and shrugs a little. "I thought so."

"It was fine. We're all fine. Nobody got stabbed." says Marian, darkly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Merrill nods solemnly. "[Nooo stab you gut with sord]," she repeats.

Varric beams at her. "Thatta girl," he says, then looks at Marian. "That's why she's my favorite in-law," he informs the half-elf.

Marian laughs. "No, it's because you hate Anders and guards make you twitchy," she corrects.

"Hey, I like Aveline. Just wish she as baker. Or a brewer, that'd be great. And I like her more than Zevran or Isabela," he adds. "How you feeling?"

"Bit of a headache, but that's probably Carver." She shrugs. "I'll be fine."

~*~

Marian hates being sick, she decides.

This time around, her body's fine; even the gem left her energy sapped, but now, she's restless even as she comes in and out of a mental fog. After Carver left, her checkers ability deteriorated, until finally she gave up on remembering the rules and just let Merrill read to her instead. The next day, she wakes feeling fine -- but by lunch, she is sent back to bed for almost falling asleep into her broth.

When she wakes from her nap, she hears a familiar voice, talking and laughing in Elven along with her Merrill. Marian pulls herself out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown over her tunic to ensure she's decently covered before she makes her way out to the parlor. Zevran is already turning to greet her wen she enters, having heard her long before she got into the room. His eyes flick to the expanse of the dressing gown and he dramatically pouts at how much it covers. "It is good to see you awake, mon faucon chanceux. I hear you have recovered from the ravages of the dreaded mummy rot?"

Merrill blinks. "Oh no, that's just the cover story, She's just recovering from the--" She pauses as she notices his smile. "Oh, you were joking?"

"I wonder how that story got around?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "But yes, I am on the mend. Thank you, Zevran."

"That was me," he confirms cheerfully. "For which you owe me a great debt, I might add."

"Do I?" She winces. "In silver or gold?"

"I was hoping for sexual favors, to be honest, but then, your kisses are as gold," he muses with a winking leer, causing Merrill to giggle. "But oh my yes, a truly great debt. You see, a certain saucy barmaid of our acquaintance happened, by random chance, to end up serving a certain, hmmm, rusty guard at the Gilder." Enjoying the look of dawning horror, he continues, "the guard recognized the barmaid and inquired if she had news of her dearest friend. The barmaid, out of her goodness of her cruel and impish heart, was glad to inform the guard what she new- how the friend had gotten a disease from a local healer. Of the... personal sort."

Merrill blinks. "Is this about Hawke? The story I mean? And the guard... is Aveline? Who's the barmaid? Is it you Zevran?"

"...this joke seems to have turned on me a little," he mutters to himself.

"Isabela," she informs Merrill. "Isabela's been-- oh, I could kill that girl!" she sounds more scandalized than angry, frankly. "So you came up with the mummy story?"

"Ohhhhh. That makes sense too.," Merrill says softly, staring at Zevran intently.

"It was the best I could do on the spot, after Isabela had already started," he says apologetically, dropping the story jest. "Regrettably, it seems that some... conflicting rumors have spread, implying you acquired the mummy rot in an... unorthodox manner."

"..." Merrill nods firmly. "But I think Zevran would look cute in a barmaid outfit." The other elf opens his mouth, then shrugs a little in agreement- he would, of course, as he is Zevran.

Marian tilts her head in acknowledgement of Merrill's point. "Well, I appreciate you trying." She blushes suddenly. "That explains -- a lot about yesterday."

"It does?" Merrill asks curiously, Zevran looking not disinterested as well.

"Ah, when our second guest mentioned Mummy Rot. Anyway. How have you been, Zevran?"

"I have been well," he says easily enough. "I heard abut your recovery yesterday, but was, ah, rather in the middle of someone-thing and couldn't get away until now, my apologies." He stands, then steps forward to bow with a flourish. "I do, however, come bearing gifts!" he announces revealing a pair of double-fist sized canvas bags, one in each hand.

"Gifts are nice," agrees Marian. "But then we ought to talk."

"Talk or... talk?" he asks with a devilish grin. "But first, your gifts!" He hands one to Merrill, who takes it a trifle absently, and the other to Hawke. Opening it, the half-elf finds a large, hairy looking nut. "Well?"

She raises her eyebrows. "A nut?"

"A coconut!" He pauses. "You... have never had one? They're very famous in tropical elven cities, I am surprised you have not had the pleasure. I suppose they are rather rare in this area," he admits.

Merrill taps it curiously. "What... do you do with it?"

"Well, the shell must first be cracked- which is not easy, they're sometimes used as armour on par as boiled leather, but less flexible," he begins.

Marian nods, putting the bag aside. "Perhaps after our chat you could show us? I've never eaten cocoa nuts -- oh, do they taste like cocoa?" She shakes her head. "I'm distracting myself."

"Alas no, the similar name is just chance. But yes, we can have a snack after our boring-type talk," he agrees.

"Oh! Well, that's not very nice," Merrill says with a scowl. "Thinking that about his sister! You'd never have sex with an undead and not tell me."

"Merrill!" Hawke groans.

"I... am so very curious-- so very, very curious-- but I shall delay my satisfaction in order to enhance it," Zevran announces grandly. And possibly time it so Varric is present. "Please, continue, mon faucon insaisissable."

Marian shakes her head, with a faint wistful smile. She opens her mouth as if to playfully chide him, but lets it drop, realizing this is her chance to say her piece. _And... Ugh, this is hard to change the subject to. Should I really..._

_Yes._

She sighs, the Dwarven part of her brain winning out over the human. "About Anders..."

"Oh please tell me this is not another chapter to that sordid tale?" Zevran asks, trying to sound playful, but having a small sense of pleading to it.

Merrill shakes her head vigorously. "No, he's still all tucked in at Summerhill. Hawke is just going around saying sorry and thank you to everyone. And sometimes say really silly things about not being good enough for us or about her being unlovable and dumb stuff."

Zevran nods slowly, giving Hawke a raised eyebrow. Marian blushes.

"That was basically the long and short of it," she confesses. _No, you can't just let Merrill apologize for you. Do it right. She takes a deep breath._ "Zevran, I... I know I've been an ass. I'm.. actually not sure how you got dragged into my mess, but you deserve better than having to clean up behind me." She bows her head. "I'm sorry."

Zevran studies her a moment, glancing at Merrill for a moment, and then he finally speaks. His lips quirk in humor and his voice is husky as he replies, "are you now? Well, if you have been naughty, then I think, perhaps, you need to pay this debt... with a spanking or..." He stops suddenly, then sighs. "I suppose some talks must be boring, even if we should wish otherwise," he admits in a somewhat tired tone, expression both sad and whimsical. "You are forgiven, Hawke. I was not all that upset with you, to be honest. For the hurt you caused Merrill, yes, but naught else."

"I appreciate the effort," she says, ruefully. "Thank you. I'll do my best to be more worthy next time." She glances down at her lap, then back up rapidly. "Oh, uh, I don't know what the others told you, but... Varric and I are okay now."

"I am pleased for you-- and he," he replies easily, still sounding a touch morose. "Our darling flower is clearly happy once again, so that leaves only your lady guard, no?"

Marian glances at Merrill, frowning slightly. "Mer, I think the puppy needs to go out -- can you take him on a walk?"

Merrill blinks a little, then looks down at the puppy. Who has somehow gotten one of the coconuts how did he even-- "Puppy, no! That's not food for dogs!" she says reprovingly, scurrying over to scoop him up. He yips plaintively, clearly desiring the return of his chew toy. Zevran seems more amused than anything else, which is good at least.

Marian smiles. "See? Too restless for his own good."

~*~

Once Merrill and the puppy are out the door, she reaches for Zevran's hand, changing over to Elven. "What's troubling you?"

Zevran glances back at her, a little surprised. "...nothing of import," he says with a smile. "Just idle thoughts. Might I hope that you have secured this little one-on-one to speak of breaking into long forgotten treasures of the ginger variety?"

She laughs. "No. Sadly. I was... you sounded like there was something you wanted to talk about."

He frowns, a dark look in his eyes. "Indeed, but it sounds like you do not. Or perhaps there is nothing to report? Tsk tsk, mon faucon," a beat, "belle," he finishes a trifle tritely.

"Belle?" She frowns at him. "Beautiful hawk? Are you ill yourself? You haven't even gotten to majestic or high-flying."

"...please Hawke, let it be. It is nothing... to do with with you. Just-" he waves his hand dismissively. "Dar-- idle thoughts, as I said." As his hand returns from the gesture, it absently traces the arcane design engraved the skin of his side. Even though he's wearing a shirt at the moment, she knows his body far too well to miss that pattern.

"I will. But only because you asked me to." She sighs, sitting back on the couch. "I won't stop fretting over you. Zevran, I..." _Now is **so** not the time. But if not now, then when?_ She chews her lip, looking across the room to the bookshelf.

His gaze follows her for a moment and he musters a smile that's almost flirtatious. "Oh? Interested in a bit of story telling then? Perhaps tucked in bed together, my voice in your ear, our bodies pressed together?"

"That's not storytelling," she says absently, deep in thought. _I should tell him. What if he died tomorrow, or I did?_

"No? But it has a peak and a climax. And lots of... vowel sounds," he says thoughtfully.

She shakes her head with a rueful smile. "Never change." _Do it. Before you lose your nerve._ She turns back to Zevran, reaching for his hand again. "Zevran, I...I know you won't appreciate this," she says, searching his eyes. "But I hope you can receive it in the spirit I mean it."

"...I am nervously curious. And somewhat concerned," he says carefully, eying her like he would a venomous snake. Or a beautiful woman with a blade.

The pit of her stomach flutters and rolls, like a migratory flock of butterflies -- rolling in unison, but fluttering all the while. "I love you, Zevran. I've been in love with you for a while." She keeps her voice soft, her tone even. "I won't tie you down. I won't hold you back. But I wanted you to know how I feel, before-- before something happens, or it becomes too late."

Zevran had tensed at her first words, though not perhaps as much as she'd expected. He stares at her, expression carefully neutral, and finally nods a moment after she finishes.

"It... is strange. I have heard those words many times, from hundreds of lips in a dozen different tongues and twice as many races. And yet it is only from a flower and hawk that I find myself... bothering to listen, for the first time since... since a very long time." He frowns slightly. "I... think I even care, that you have said it. How strange indeed." His eyes flick up to her face, his expression slightly predatory. "The pair of you are very... dangerous combination," he says, his voice a strangely bland contrast to his eyes.

A smile dawns across her face. "Beloved," she calls him in Elven, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. "Mine," she adds in Draconic, which means nearly the same thing.

His hand snaps up to catch her's, the pressure just over the threshold of painful. A heartbeat later and it gentles. "Take care, my over-bold hawk, I try very hard to... be what I was long ago, but I am still far too much myself," he murmurs softly.

"If you hurt me, it's because I deserve it," she insists. "I trust--"

His expression twists and he pushes her hand away. "Do not **ever** say such a thing again," he hisses at her before flowing to his feet and stalking towards the door.

Marian stares up at him, gobstruck. "...Zevran?" she asks, making no move to stand. _What... is it because I said I trust him? Or that I deserved it?_

"You will _never_ deserve what I am, what I--" he grits out between clenched teeth just before storming out.

 _Fuck._ She jumps to her feet. "Wait!" she calls, half tripping over herself as she chases him. "Wait, Zevran--"

He's almost out of the house when she finds her footing and... he hesitates, just a moment as she calls out to them, but then he continues onward. Without much hope, she chases after, only to see him, frozen, a few feet outside. He's staring upwards, face towards the sun, eyes hopefully closed. And... perhaps 'frozen' is the wrong word. He's no longer walking or running, but he is not still. His body is trembling, his fists clenched so hard his veins are raised prominently. He reminds her nothing more than a wounded animal trying to quiet itself before it draws in predators.

 _Zevran..._ She edges forward, moving as quietly as she can so she doesn't startle him. Unbidden, her mind dredges up images of the night they first met: how bloody and raw he looked, how she was sure he was dead. With the lens of her love for him over top, it's almost too painful to think about. _This is also Zevran. This is his reality. I can't look away._

She pauses as she gets closer, not wanting to impose on his personal space. "My love. My wicked warrior," she says, softly, trying to help him regain some sense of calm, of normalacy.

He doesn't react to her words or her arrival, but rather simply stares towards the sun and trembles. As she nears, she can hear him whispering in a steady litany:

"-am no-one. I obey. I am hollow. Thank you for teaching me master. I am tainted. I will not speak until commanded. I am nothing. I will not look at my betters. I am merely flesh. I am grateful for your mercy master. I am tool. I fuck whom I wish. I am a vessel of your will. I will not leave my cell without permission. I am a traitor. I will devote myself to my training. I am just a cock and tongue. I will not kill as order. I am no-one. I obey. I am hollow. Thank you for teaching me to kill you master. I am... I...tain... ... Hawke?" His recitation wavers, as if he were slowly prying himself out, but her name comes out... almost normal. Weary and desperate but... Zevran.

Hawke stares at him for a long moment. Finally, she comes up with some choice words in Dwarven. In the middle, she breaks off to say, "Never say those things again. They are lies," before, overcome with emotion, she drags her tongue back into Dwarven.

Zevran shudders, hard, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He finally goes silent and he stops shuddering, but there's still a little trembling. And with his new posture, Hawke can see a few thin streams of blood trailing down from his fists. "...not... all lies," he whispers.

Hawke's reply is in dwarven, but she moves closer to Zevran. "[accursed wretched mind-bent rot spewing filth better be dead--] Let me see your hands -- [wish he was dead by the time I get done]." She manages to keep the worst of the venom out of her voice, manages to keep her real thoughts in the Dwarven she knows he doesn't speak, but she manages to switch languages to ask for his hands.

He studies her, a slight look of... amusement making it's way onto his face. "I do not know that tongue, but I have heard your father use that tone when some gore or dirt befouls his lady," he comments, a wisp of his humor returning. He does not, however unlock his arms.

Hawke cuts off her stream of language. "Well, we're family for a reason." It's weird how cold the day's become all of the sudden, like a cloud passing over the sun or something. "Come back inside. Let me treat your hands."

He blinks, his eyes mere pinpricks at he tries to look at her. After a moment, he glances down at his hands but doesn't react. "..what... is wrong with my hands? Are they not marvelous and... deft?" he asks in an almost desperate bit of flirting.

"Your hands are the most amazing, pleasure-bringing hands ever created. You have--" She breaks off, her voice thick with emotion as she struggles to get things under control. Weird -- it looks like there's a glint of ice in her eyelashes, on her cheeks? "You seem to have hurt them. Let me care for them, for you. I would not-- I would not lose--" She can't do it. She can't pretend to be talking about sex, not right now.

He blinks again, rapidly, as he gazes at her. Or... towards her, anyway. His eyes are focused on her left ear... "I... I will come back inside," he agrees slowly. "But... just a basin of water. I... it would be... better if we allow the anticipation to build before... touching." He, however, needs to pretend. He can't...

"[I will murder them, their children, and the unborn babies in their wombs.]" At least she keeps it to a mumble, this time, even though it's clearly vehement. She nods at him then, forcing a smile onto her face. "Of course. Whatever you say." She starts toward him, visibly stops herself, and starts backing toward the door instead, keeping her gaze on him.

He slowly turns towards the house, his head tilted just a touch to the side as she retreats back in. "So... what.. what have you and our... fleur been up to this fine day?" he asks in forced lightness. _Please... talk to me of life, normal life, one not soaked in shadows and blood and.._

"I've been.. recovering. We played checkers." She can't fake the gaiety in her voice, but she can speak to him, at least.

He heads after her slowly, moving careful and slow, his normally graceful stride reduced and almost mincing. "Checkers? I hadn't realized... that you were a fan of such," he says in a very soft voice, as if trying to avoid being overheard or something. "How as it?"

"I'm not up to my usual snuff. I had a nap, because my brain just wouldn't..." _Have I been speaking Elven this whole time?_ She shakes her head, switching to Common. "Wouldn't let me devise my usual strategies. It was as if Merrill had removed her top to distract me." When she gets to the door, she goes for the first aid kit kept near the front door -- the one that had proven so handy for Anders, or when she'd been stabbed in the gut.

"Strip checkers?" he suggests with a hint of 'eyebrow wiggle' in his voice, though his expression doesn't change from the focused but otherwise blank state it's been in since he stopped reciting. "I think perhaps we should implement a new activity in our..." he falters then, trying to find the rest of his sentence.

"Bedroom?" she asks, quietly, when it's clear he won't go on. "I think Merrill would like that. Maybe it's worth a try. Come, sit." She reaches for his hand, but stops herself, pulling herself back from him.

He'd tensed, just a little, when she reaches for him, but relaxes when she pulls away. He follows her after she continues, taking a seat a little out of arm's reach from her when they get to the table. "Relationship," he says, in a small voice.

A smile -- a sad one, but a smile -- graces her lips. "That too," she adds. "But there's time for that later. I'm not going anywhere." She pauses, then studies the ointments before her. "Would you prefer if... Wynne treated you?" _Is it touching, or is it me?_

"No!" He flinches at his shout, hunching in a little. "...I... I am a danger right now. I... should not be... near anyone. But... you are... best, if I... must."

She flinches. "Okay, my love. It's okay. I'll protect you." She didn't mean to give voice to that last part, at least not in Elven, but... so much for that. She studies the jars before her, trying to devise a plan of action. Finally, she opens a jar, deciding to minimize harm. "Take some of this onto your fingers, and rub it between your palms," she says, holding up the jar for him.

"...it is not _I_ that needs protecting," he murmurs, watching her carefully. He reaches out for the jar, careful to keep his hand just out of actual reach, so she'll have to slide the jar over to him instead.

"I will protect you anyway." she says, quietly, as she puts the jar nearer him and takes her hands back, putting them in her lap. "I know you can guard your own life. I will protect your heart."

He takes the jar, hesitating a moment as she continues to speak, but continues to follow her previous instructions. "If it can be found," he murmurs as he rubs the salve in. "I am sorry."

"Never be sorry for who you are." She smiles at him, sadly. "I thought you were the one teaching me that."

He glances up at her, still blinking too often, but refocuses on his hands. "Perhaps... but I meant for... I thought I had...settled. I should have waited another day before coming," he explains.

 _He finished a job..._ "I'm glad you didn't. You shouldn't be alone right now. Or -- you shouldn't have to. Maybe you'd prefer it, but..."

"I would rather be alone than risk you," he says with a faint smile. Then shudders a little. "Or notre fleur innocente."

"While I can agree Merrill being--" She blinks. "One moment. I'll be right back." Zevran nods as, without waiting, she gets up from the table, ducking back to Wynne's study at the back of the house. She thrusts the door open and asks, quietly, in Dwarven, "I'm handling a situation. Merrill's off on a walk. Can you or Rhys send her on an errand, get her out of the house longer?"

Wynne glances up from her desk, where she'd been looking at the small bundle of flowers she was gently holding. "Do you wish for assistance?" she asks in the same language, then frowns. "You're still recovering, what are you up to?"

"Gods yes, but I can't. It's really delicate right now. I'm taking it slow." Hawke takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "I can handle it. I uh... promise I won't get engaged?"

An slim eyebrow raises. "As you would require special dispensation from a Light to be engaged twice, that would be for the best," she informs Hawke dryly. "Very well, I shall inform Merrill that I wish to bake tonight and to pick up some fresh raspberries. That will buy you an hour at most."

Marian winces. "Thank you. I love you." _It's still weird, but... it's a better weird than before, feeling and not saying._

Wynne blinks a little, still not used to hearing it herself. At least not from Hawke. Rhys, yes, of course, though most often wordlessly. Merrill, sometimes, though the elven girl is more about physical displays of affection and thoughtful gestures. But this new, more open and expressive Hawke is... She smiles faintly, raising the bundle of flowers to her face. The scent is gone, of course, the flowers are decades old and even magic has limits. But she can still smell honeysuckle and hyssop. She glances across the room, to where only she can see Rhys hovering. "Not the family we planned so long ago, but... they'll do, won't they?" The phantasm nods slightly, his helm blank and unemotional, but his aura flaring just a little faster, a little more lively.

~*~

Marian pulls her head back and heads down the hallway, sitting near -- but not any closer to -- Zevran, speaking to him in Elven. "I made sure we won't be interrupted."

Zevran has tensed noticeably, his eyes, which seem to be focusing a little better, locked on the hall behind her. "...Wynne is home?" he asks carefully.

"She's busy, she won't bother us. I asked her to send Merrill out for longer, so she won't walk in on us. As I said, I will protect you." She pauses, then adds, in Common and with a wry smile, "Please don't ask me to elope with you, though."

His face twists in disdain and disgust and he slides the jar towards her. "I assure you, such a deed is very, very far from my thoughts," he says firmly. "With anyone, ever."

"It.. it was a joke," she mumbles. She moves to close the jar, squinting at his pupils for a moment. "How are your eyes? You seemed to be staring at the sun a while," she asks, trying to breeze past the moment.

"Of course, my apologies," he says after a moment. "My sense of humor seems to... be a little faulty at the moment." He reaches up to rub his eyes, carefully to obscure only one at a time. "They shall be fine in another three or four minutes," he adds. Rather... exact timing there.

Marian makes a soft, sympathetic noise. "Is it... alright if I talk about what happened?"

"...I... cannot stop you from talking..." he says evasively, then quirks a faint smile. "Well, not in the living room, Wynne has been rather firm on that, no?"

"But is it alright?" she asks, more insistent, ignoring his quip. "It can wait, if you need time."

He simply shrugs, his gaze shifting to his hands. His posture is... wary, but not... closed off.

She nods, taking a deep breath slowly. "Stop me if you need to," she says, quietly. _How to begin..._ "Zevran... I care about you very much," she says, looking at her hands. "If Merrill were to say... some of the things you said about yourself... I would slap her, and shout at her. But I know... I know you've been through things I can't even imagine. So I don't..."

"They were not... my words," he says quietly. "I... try to... take them but they are not mine yet, not...."

"They are lies. Vile, slanderous lies that shouldn't come from the lips of anyone," she cuts in, her voice still soft, but her hands trembling with suppressed anger.

He smiles faintly. "You are far too good for this world," he says fondly.

"That doesn't --" she cuts herself off. "I don't know if you're capable of listening right now, but..." She shakes her head, feeling helpless. "You tell me over and over that you're a killer. So am I. You tell me that makes you worthless. What, then? Should I accept that?"

"...it is not... it is not the killing that... burdens me. It is... who and how. And... why." He laughs softly. "Perhaps it is strange, to think that I prefered my second and third owners more than the first or fourth. That I prefered being an object used for their pleasure and... favor, rather than has a weapon. That being..."

Marian wipes away icy tears, forcing emotion back into her gut where it damn well belongs. "I want to bundle you into my arms and never let go." _I wonder if I can still trace the paper trail? Varric 'took care' of the last guy at least.._ "I know this burden may never... that you may suffer for a long time. I know I can't really take that from you, though I would in a heartbeat." _..I wonder if Summerhill has come up with a way to erase those memories? It'd be worth being stabbed again._ "But I can't stand to see you enslave yourself. You are worth so much more than that."

He licks his lips a little, not looking at her. "A slave cannot own himself, mon cher faucon, you can set that fear aside," he says, just a touch evasively. "But I thank you for... wishing to protect me."

"You can be owned by... ideas." She looks at her hands, then says, quietly, in a flat tone: "I'm a witch. I was entrusted with the care of my siblings, to protect them because we have no father, and I failed them. I practically killed my sister. The last thing she said before she died was to beg me to save her, and I did not. No sooner did we get to town than I abandoned my family, and I've been running from my responsibilities ever since. I am an elf pretending to be a dwarf due to some sick delusion. I'm addicted to sex, and I'll say or do anything to justify my perversions. And I'm addicted to demon-summoning. One day soon I'll start making pacts with dark powers."

Zevran takes a long, slow breath. "You should thank your dwarven father, for his perception and honor," he murmurs once she finishes and despite his wording, it seems more intended for himself than her. _Had I been in his place, I can only hope I would have seen how much you needed someone. And I would certainly not have kept my word to not slowly kill the monsters you share blood with._

__

__

"I do. I thank him all the time." She takes a shuddering breath. "Those things are still true about me, whether I say them or not. But objectively, the things you said are not true. You-- you called yourself hollow. But I've seen something inside you, something I can love." She winces, giving a self-deprecatory laugh. "For whatever my love is worth."

"Far more than any of _them_ , far more than me or--" he fairly spits out. "You and Merrill are the best ma- women, rather, [ladies] even, that I have ever had the privilege to know. And keep in mind I am half elven, a fair bit older than you and very, _very_ well traveled, so I have met many. Your love, your opinion and your... your everything is worth a great deal."

She blushes, a grim smile on her face. "I'm glad you think so." _If I'm so great, why is Bethany dead?_ "But maybe you can trust me, then? That you're... better than that?"

"When you say it, it... is easier," he confesses. "It... does not go away, not... entirely, but it is easier. And... it goes further, stays there longer, as I have known you." He studies his hands for a moment. "You and Merrill... you.. you are... you balance each other, your... passion and drive, your innate need to help anyone and everyone around you, your fierce, protective love. And her... endless devotion, her loyalty, patience and... sweet and accepting love."

"If my saying it helps you, I will say all of it." _If only to burn the words out of my mind._

_**I am no-one.** _

"You are wonderful, Zevran."

_**I obey.** _

"You are irreverent and wicked and I love you."

_**I am hollow.** _

"You have a light inside you, a real genuine love of life and sex and all the wonderous ways people relate to each other."

_**I am tainted.** _

"You are pure and whole."

_**I will not speak until commanded. I am nothing.** _

"I rely on your judgement. Your words get me through some rough times."

_**I will not look at my betters.** _

"The way you look at me makes me feel worthy."

_**I am merely flesh.** _

"Your spirit and personality are beautiful."

_**I am a traitor.** _

"You are a good friend, and you are loyal, and you keep my secrets when I ask."

Zevran's eyes widen and his breathing catches. He swallows hard, eyes closing tightly as she continues, word after word, line after line. He... it doesn't click, not for the first few lines but.. "Thank you, mist- mon faucon maît- mon Hawke," he chokes out. "I- Hawke. Thank you. I.. please, I need... no more, please."

She falls silent as soon as he asks, the rest of the awful words playing through her head uncountered. _I hope that was right. Gods curse this perfect memory._ "I love you," she says, quietly. "I wish this hadn't hurt you so badly. I wish-- whatever it was I said to trigger this, I hope you can tell me so I never, ever say it again."

"Not.. not you. I... I still.. work. It is my... it is what I am good at and I can...pick now," he says after taking a moment to gather himself. He's still... clearly unsettled, but... no longer breaking apart. "But it seems I must learn to pick better. My last principal, she was... she dealt in the sort of drug that has no place or allowable use." He swallows hard. "She also had a son. He.. saw. I... I was trained to... witnesses are forbidden. But I couldn't- n-n-not again, not an-n-nymore, please don't m-make mmmme. P-please, he didn't-"

"It's alright," she whispers in Elven. "I love you. You're free now. Whatever happened, I forgive you."

He relaxes, a deep shuddering inhale and an explosive exhale. "He didn't see my face, just- just her body. And my.. outline. The... comb, I used. He... didn't deserve to see that, didn't deserve to die. And you wouldn't want me to- neither of you would demand I- silence.. a boy. So I... ran. And.. but I didn't know and it was... was... yesterday was not.. fun. Thank you for... helping."

 _Neither of you would demand..._ Somewhere deep in Marian's chest, her heart cracks firmly in half. "I think.... I think you should.." _Try another line of work. But no, I don't want him thinking I don't value his skills._ "have a vacation. You'll be alright for money if you don't take another job right away?"

"...I do not do well with boredom," he says carefully. "And there are only so many beds in Nyra, so many clerics willing to heal... chafing," he adds with a slight hint of his more flirtatious side. He licks his lips a little. "But.. perhaps a small break or.. I don't suppose you have anyone you need gone?" he asks almost whimsically.

She flinches. "No. Though I suppose if you wanted to figure out where my brother's been signing on for mercenary work and keep an eye on him for me -- he's going on some adventure to find his father, and he probably deserves to have a handsome man like you making him insecure about his masculinity the whole time."

Zevran blinks. "Ah..." He coughs. "I may already know the first bit of that," he says carefully.

She chuckles. "Because of course you do. You're so clever."

"Well, after I got the full story about 'sword in gut', I may have... begun looking into things. Varric noticed, and took me aside to explain that, despite the normal logic of killing people that stab you, you wished him to remain alive. But he did ask what I had learned, to compare with his own reports and... well, it's a hobby, of sorts, by this point really," he says, looking innocently at the ceiling the whole time.

She flinches. "Thanks Varric," she mumbles. "What did you find?"

"In the last thirteen months, he has shifted noticeably towards caravan protection jobs. Most are one to two weeks in duration, but he has been slowly increasing the length over time. I have also noticed that in the last few months, he has shown a preference for jobs taking him to Glaley, even if they did not pay quite as well as others." He pauses, then notes, "I did not make the connection, but Varric observed that Glaley is well know as anti-arcana. He has also broken things off, such as they were, with Isabela. He has started- and failed- four other relationships. Two they broke off, one that simply did not ignite and the last he ended."

She nods, listening along. _Caravan jobs seem right up his alley -- I'd be trying to get out of the house too. Glaley, that could be trouble. Isabela... probably for the best._

He pauses a moment, taking a breath and rewetting his mouth, but clearly intending to continue. "In the last month, my... coverage was a touch spotty, but he's had a sudden interest in a small elven village called Golden Green. Something that coincides with rumors of him having a series of arguments with his mother." He pauses a moment, then offers this last. "While he seems to devote a rather sizeable portion of his pay to either savings or some other, ah, hobby, he has recently invested in an enchanted sword. Just something to keep in mind," he finishes blandly.

 _Golden Green? I'm related to Merrill? she wonders, nervously. Hopefully not too closely._ "Thanks," she says, rolling her eyes at his last comment. "I don't plan to get stabbed again, but you know, I was on the verge of forgetting about it, so there's that."

"It was in the gut, if you forgot," he informs her. "[Stabbed in the goot with a sword]," he adds, in badly phrased Dwarven.

She groans. "You're as bad as Merrill!"

"Varric gave lessons," he says with a shrug. "There were snacks, it was very nice really. I can also say, [Hawke, yoor being stubborn], [Slagging bitch in heat], and [I swear give no grandchillren until she thirty]," he adds brightly.

She covers her grin with her hand, snickering. "That second one's rude, something like [bitch in heat]," she translates into Elven, "and the last one's swearing off relations with me for a decade."

Zevran nods at the first, clearly expecting it, but gapes at the second. "..that tricky little rock-humper," he says with respect. "I asked how to say something like [You shine like the light of the sun in winter.]" He shakes his head. "Well played..."

She laughs. "Yeah, that sounds like Varric."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a long chapter, so I broke it in half. Probably one chapter after that, then I'll be putting up a sequel. 
> 
> Missing Fenris? Here's that part of Zevris, at long last. Sorry it took so long 0:)


	10. Questioning Beliefs, pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After re-evaluating her relationship with Carver and Zevran, Marian goes on to do the same for Varric, and Anders.

Marian says nothing about the encounter with Zevran to Merrill; she packs up the first aid kit before her lover returns with the dog, and feigns gaiety enough to convince. When Varric comes over for dinner, Marian makes another excuse, asking if Varric and she can borrow the study to go over some of his books; she'd like to learn some of his economic tricks, since tax day was just past while she was out. Or so she claims.

Varric doesn't bobble the hint in the slightest, given some reply in the vein of 'you really want to try again at this? Really really? Alright, hey, Moonbeam, you want to try your hand at the tax code?' Wynne gives them a glance but doesn't comment, but Merrill flees with a laugh and a puppy to the backyard. The pair head out to their place -- not that Hawke's been there in over a week, now that she thinks about it -- and then into his study. Grabbing a bottle of gnomish brandy (smooth, gentle and sweeter than most, it's also not very potent) and some glasses, he takes a seat.

"So, what's on your mind Hawke? Sure ain't taxes."

She shakes her head. "No, I---"

She slides into a seat across the desk from him, resting her forehead on her hand as she changes to Dwarven. "Father-- Daddy-- " Varric winces a little at that one, and Hawke shakes her head, ruefully. _Nope, still weird._ "Varric. I wanted... Can I just... not be strong? For a little while?"

Varric stands up. "This... sounds more like a couch conversation," he says softly, moving over to the two-person sofa across the room and beckons her over.

She nods, moving to sit beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "This was a hard day."

He wraps an arm around her, resting his head against her own. It can be a little hard, sometimes, to comfort someone that's a good two feet or so taller than you. Switching to Dwarven for now, he asks gently, "what happened? I thought you spent today at Wynne's, with Merrill?"

"I did," she replies in the same language. "And I had a nice visit with Zevran until... until..." The tears, held back since that afternoon, start flowing in earnest. "He said..."

"Hey, hey, it'll work out. He... he's an alright sort, I'm sure you can work out... whatever happened," he says gently, rubbing her back slowly, "Or... is this something your dear old... dwarf should be taking care of? Pretty sure that's in the job description somewhere."

"I think you already have. The man we freed him from... You said you were going to handle the contact I had, and I let you."

"Oh. Oh, that kind of 'he said,'" he realizes slowly. _Fuck._ "How much... how much did he say? I... I've made some guesses and... dug some up but..."

"He said he was... " She stumbles over the translation, rubbing at the tears. "Hollow. No-one. A tool, a tongue and a cock, a weapon only, nothing more. It broke my heart to hear, and he's had to live it for years."

He's quiet a bit, just rubbing her back and holding her close. "You make it better. You and Merrill. It's... pretty clear he's sticking around for more than just the debt of you freeing him. Not sure if he's ever... you know, said it, or if he ever will but-- and please don't confirm this-- I'm sure he's shown how much you both mean to him."

She stiffens, burying her face against Varric's shoulder for a renewed bout of tears. When she can speak again, she says, "I don't think I'm as good for him as we thought."

"Is this... is this about... Anders? And... because you are a good person, Hawke. Maybe too forgiving or trusting, but that's far from the worst of faults to have. You're worth loving and... you know, in theory, by very respectful and in a totally chaste way, wanting. Shit." _Why can't there be a book or something in this?_ "You're worth it. All of it. And more."

She shakes her head against his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm just what he needs. A good master to pet him and fawn over him." she says, bitterly.

"Ah... sorry what now? What do... you're not his... wait, did he say..." _Oh, this is... sticky. And isn't life grand, that I'm half wishing that maybe this is a sex thing she's misunderstanding?_

She sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm not as good a person as you think I am."

"Oh shut up," he says automatically, then winces. "Err, I mean, shush and nonsense. You're a wonderful person and better than I think you are, I'd wager. This... this isn't anything you did, it's Zevran." He hisses. "Not his fault, I don't mean to... he went through hell on Aldis, that leaves... scars. What... what happened, exactly?"

"He didn't... he wasn't in a talking mood. But the way he talks about me, about the... missions he's been undergoing since he was freed... he views me in place of his master. Merrill too. How can I be with him, love or not, if it... if I...?"

"Do you?" he says firmly. "Do you consider yourself his master, his _owner_? Is Zevran your lover or your slave?" he demands sternly.

"[My beloved]," she says without hesitation in Elven, before switching back to Dwarven. "But it's not healthy to let him think... to let him carry on in that way."

"[Your beloved]," Varric repeats firmly. "Focus on that. Keep that in the center of your mind. That's what you are. It's... probably not good for him to think about you as... a master, no, but... it's probably better than anyone else. I've seen this sort of thing before, in other freed slaves. He hides it better, I hadn't realized he was... well. It can be worked past. You just have to be careful to..." He takes a deep breath, trying to word this right. "Don't reject him. He... it can go badly. Sometimes they just shut down, sometimes they simply find someone else. A few snap and others... decide to.. backtrack, find old masters instead. I doubt he'd do those last, but... I could see him switching to someone else. Maybe focus just on Merrill, unless she broke thing off entirely too. Shut down or... go hollow," he winces to use the word, but it fits too well.

She shudders. "I don't want to hurt him. I don't ever want to hurt him. I'm just afraid... This feeling. Varric, it's.." _Can I? Dare I confess to Varric? It's so fresh, it has to be... I can't pick at that wound..._

"Greasy and shameful? Yeah, I know the feeling. Freed a slave when I was much younger. Half-dwarf girl... she, uh, wanted to thank me. Naked. Tried turning her down, she just keep... well. Managed to get her into the care of some Astean Brights but..." He frowns then, studying her reactions. "And... that wasn't the feeling you meant, at least right then."

She shakes her head. "Well, yes, but-- no, that's not what I-- it's nothing, nevermind."

"Marian... honesty and openness," he reminds her gently.

 _Honesty.. right._ She takes a deep breath. "I felt this way... before, with Anders. This impossible task. This desperate need to save him. The love, and the fear." She studies her hands as she speaks.

"But this time you're asking for help," he says after a moment. "And.. this time, it's... well, there's less urgency. I know you're probably desperate to fix things by tonight if not yesterday, but he's been dealing with this for almost two years now, right? He'll last a while longer, I'm sure. We can take our time, plan things out, make sure we keep talking to everyone involved. Should probably ease Merrill in, but she should know too," he realizes with a wince.

She nods, slowly. "I hate this. I want to keep things secret."

"Because the fewer that know, the less that can betray you. Hurt you," he says softly.

She nods, slowly. "The fewer that know how hurt Zevran is, the less I have to protect him."

"Look at this way-- the more of the clan that know how hurt he is, the more of us that'll be ready to cover his flank," Varric says, giving her a squeeze.

She nods, slowly. "A clan... is that what I'm building?"

"Not sure what the word would be in common or elven, but.. yeah. I think it is," Varric says., then laughs. "Weirdest fucking clan in the history of ale and beards, but yeah."

She chuckles. "Are there.. stories about people like me? Dwarven stories, of people who... I don't know, were married to half the clan?"

"Ah, sorta? There are... a handful of Clan Heads with multiple wives or husbands, but they were all one-to-many, not... this... free-for-all thing you're doing," he says after thinking it over. "More common in catfolk than dwarves, but still the one-to-many thing. Uh... Ciren. You should ask a Ciren Bright," he says brightly, also kind of glad to not have to dig too deeply into his daughter's love life. _That's what the god of passion's clerics are there for, after all. Detangling... passion problems._

She nods. "I plan to. Aveline wants to know how this works and uh, other than locking the doors I don't know that I can tell her."

"Buying more locks. And bells," he mutters to himself, staring at her. "Lady Lawful? Is she just... curious or do you mean...?"

She blushes. "We're... talking things over. Moving towards..." She shrugs. "But that makes three relation-- two, relationships, and Zevran and Isabela, and I don't see myself stopping anytime soon. I just... I love people for who they are."

"I think you can say three. You and Zevran are just very... free with things. But... yeah. Not typical but I mean... it works for you. And you're careful about... tings, right?" Little firm there at the last.

"The third was... Anders." she says, quietly. "I knew you didn't approve of him. But we..."

"I meant." he fumbles. " _Things_. Diseasesbabies."

"That, yes. I'm careful, Varric."

"Okay. Good. No grandbabies. For like... four decades should be good," he mutters. "As for... Three. Well. No-one wins every time. And... just remember to talk to your Clan. That...that was were we both fucked up."

"How did you... find out? What tipped you off?"

"...overheard you," he admits with a wince. "Err, in a... deliberate sort of way.."

She rolls her eyes. "You could have told me." She pauses, thinking back to what he must have overheard, and winces again. "Ah. So you knew. And here I thought I could lie to you."

"You might well have pulled it off if I hadn't known," he says neutrally. He swallows. "Can't... say it didn't hurt. Lying to me like that... better than I'd ever seen you do it before."

She looks at her lap. "I've been practicing," she admits, softly. "Never thought I'd have to use it on you. And really, Varric, I can't lie that well normally. When I try to lie to you, I get so guilty and flustered it throws me off. But... for Anders..."

"That... doesn't help," he admits painfully. "I know... its... normal, for.. children to love their, ah, significant others more than their parents but it.. hurt, seeing it." He hisses a little. "This honesty shit is hard."

"I don't love Anders more than you. Stones, I don't love Merrill more than you." She sighs. "Nobody ever understands that part."

Varric frowns a little, shifting so they can see each other better. "Well.. maybe I'm the odd one out so far, but... have you explained it yet? To anyone?"

"I tried. Try." She sighs. "I love you, Varric. You're like a father to me. You know that part, I trust." She pauses, giving him time to nod. "I love Merrill. She's a treasure, a shining jewel of raw magic, polished and gleaming." She looks at her hands again. "I love Anders. He's a noble man, driven and haunted by the suffering of the people around him. I love Zevran. He's a lost soul, a bright light in a sea of darkness. I am growing increasingly fond of Aveline. She's a solid, steady, dependable friend still mourning what might have been. But, there's no relationship between any of those facts. Just because I love Merrill doesn't mean I stop loving Zevran. Just because I love you doesn't mean I don't love Merrill."

Varric considers that for a moment, trying to... grasp that kind of thinking. "You don't... measure it? Even in... scale?" he asks slowly.

She frowns, thinking about it. "I suppose... there's no question you're dearer to me than Isabela. But if I had to choose between Merrill and you? I don't think I could."

"Huh. That's... " He hums thoughtfully. "But then... why did you..?"

"Why did I lie?" she asks, flinching. "Varric... what did you do when you found out?"

"Asked you if anything was wrong," he says quietly. "Hurt, when you said no. Pushed it away to think on later and tried to... act like nothing was wrong."

She winces. "I'm sorry." she says, quietly. "But you know that's not what I meant. Did you not-- did you not know I was there? When you..."

Varric shakes his head. "That's why I stopped. I thought he was alone. I... I had my bolts dipped in Ragespittle, so when he summoned his phantom, he would attack it. But then you- if- he would have-" He breaks off, swallowing hard. "I never wanted- the whole point was to get you out of danger."

She swallows. "Varric... I thought you were just using poison. But that's-- cruel, that is."

He winces. "Wasn't sure if he'd go down in the first hit and well, rather he hit himself than me. Not like I planned to just watch."

She sighs. "Regardless... when you found out what he'd done, you decided he needed to die. I knew you might. I couldn't..." _Couldn't trust your love for me to stay your hand. Couldn't watch him die._

"...yeah. I... nothing else I could think of would... avoid splashing on Aveline or you." He winces. "I mean, I knew it would hurt, but I didn't... didn't realize you felt as much for him as you do and... figured you'd get over it. And better... heartsick then dead or in prison and also heartsick because he and maybe a few others of your... clan are right there next to you."

"When he asked -- Merrill must have told you the whole tale?"

"I think so... depends on what tale you mean exactly?"

"What happened with Anders. The parts you weren't there for."

"Ah. Yeah, we all... had a bit of a huddle while you were... down. Pretty sure if any of us knew part of it, we all know the details of Justice, Ander's cause and his little murder now," he says. "Except Aveline, of course."

Marian nods. "When he asked me to marry him... at first I laughed at him. But then, I thought to myself... what's there if I stay? Merrill, of course. Merrill is brilliant. But I never expected to be leaving her, not for an instant. But she rents from Wynne. I live with you. I might as well live with him, outside Nyra, and visit Merrill when I can. It would be... easier. I wouldn't have to... remember what you did."

He flinches at that bit, then fumbles about with his free hand. "Didn't I bring brandy over-- ah, got it. This emotional shit needs booze to work," he mutters, avoiding her eyes. After taking a swig, he sighs. "I... I don't have words for... you'd walk away from Aveline, Zevran, 'bela, Wynne and... anyone else you know here, just for him? I don't... get how that- how that fits, with loving everyone the same. Or..." he swallows. "Or did- what I- was what I did... cause enough... hate to..."

"Not hate," she says quietly. "Pain. None of you need me the way-- Zevran might, but I didn't know how much he needed me before today," she admits. "Aveline, Wynne, Isabela, you-- none of you _need_ me. Anders needed my help or he might die, and that was unacceptable." She shakes her head. "But it's not just that. None of you need me, now that Anders is safe. Even Zevran and Merrill have each other. As it should be; I don't want anyone to be that bad off again. But I.."

_Honesty and openness._

"I need you," she says, softly. "And you turned against me."

"...I'm sorry. I thought... it would be better. After you lied, I just... I felt I had to... do it. Myself. And.. that," he glances away, mouth working, before finally spitting out, "you didn't deserve to get a say anymore. If you were going to ignore us, then I could... ignore what you'd want. And just... fix it. Make it... better, maybe not how you'd want it but how...you needed. Or how I decided you needed." He sags a little. "Bit arrogant, in hindsight, to say the least." He doesn't want to derail this topic, but makes a firm mental note to revisit 'Merrill' and 'need' when they're done.

She nods, slowly. "When I told you about... Carver," she picks through, putting her thoughts more in order. "I thought... well, I thought the same thing might happen with Anders." She pauses, then adds, "But then he killed me. So maybe you were right."

He winces. "Wouldn't have minded being wrong," he whispers. "Seeing you.. die, it.. fuck. Worst five minutes of my life, until the Doctor fellow said you were still breathing." He takes a deep breath. "And... yeah, I would have wanted to shot him for putting that bullshit on you, right after that gem and... but well, Carver isn't dead. Haven't even shot him. Or had him deported or anything. Anyway. Honesty, Openness... and Trust. Clan words, you think?" he offers with a wan smile.

She smiles at him, wiping away the last of her tears. "Nobody would believe you. They'd say our clan words are sword, gut, stabbed."

He pulls her in for a rib-cracking hug, laughing deeply, if a bit desperately. When he finally finishes, he sighs and kisses her temple. "Brat," he says fondly. "Is... anything else you wanted to go over or talk about?"

She shakes her head. "I need to... see Anders, tomorrow. Or, assuming he's well enough." She pauses before adding, "I need to formally break off the engagement."

Varric's face goes blank and he coughs. "...I'm not cheering inside, shush." He coughs. "I mean... I'll support you." Clears throat. "So you want... someone to go with you? Ah, Wynne maybe?"

"If you promise not to shoot him, I wouldn't mind you coming along," she admits. "For moral support."

"I promise not to shoot him," he promise. "It counts as one of your name-day presents, but I promise. Might punch him, if he says anything... really over the line, but only in a fatherly way, not a trained fighter way. And only if you don't. Deal or haggle?"

She frowns, thinking over his terms. "I accept," she says, a twinkle in her eye. No haggling -- those terms must be generous.

"Damn, shoulda started higher," he mumbles. He takes another sip, then eyes her a carefully. "You.. earlier, you said that... no-one needed you, as much as he did. You added 'other than Zevran but you didn't know that at the time' but... you didn't mention Merrill."

She winces, looking guilty. "Merrill... " She sighs. "I know she thinks..." Another sigh. "I screwed that one up, Varric. I don't know how we got here, but..."

"I think she came that way," he says quietly. "Wynne brought it up a while back. At least a little, she was mostly just trying to see if I thought you were serious about things. But it made me think and made me look and... yeah. She, uh, well, when you got hurt, after the gem got shattered... she was pretty bad. She... did better, this time, but still. I don't think she'd.. remember to try and live if you left her. Wynne and Zevran might be able to... bring her back, but it would be pretty bad." He shrugs. "Not even sure I'd call it a... real problem, exactly. That's just how some people are. But something I wanted to be sure you knew."

"I knew," she whispers. "After the gem... if it'd been just you around, I'd have rested a few days and been back to work on whatever schedule Wynne suggested. But with Merrill around.. I couldn't let her see how bad things really were. She needed me. I pushed myself over and over -- trying to hide how much my head hurt, trying to act cheery, trying to get her to bathe and eat. I had to take care of her, even if I came out damaged in the end." _And here I am, trying to hide how bad off I am this time too -- I've been out of bed, what, two days? And already I'm pretending nothing's wrong with me._

Varric sighs. "Yeah, I noticed- that's why I kept stepping in," he explains. "But... I don't know if you have to. Pretend, I mean. It's you being there, loving and accepting her she seems to need. Hells, she'd probably like coddling you while you recover. And don't think I haven't noticed you trying to sneak little moments of rest, missy," he adds.

She gives a sheepish smile. "Guilty." It fades. "That's not why I say I screwed this up." She hesitates, and glances away. "Again, I'm not... a very good person."

"Again, you're being stupid, but go ahead," he says with a gentle smile.

"Merrill was entrusted into my care. Her clan leader told me she would need watching, that she was special. I thought she meant... I thought she meant just that Merrill was quaint and charming and didn't know the words for things and was lost in a city. But she didn't. Merrill is... " She shrugs helplessly. "Something is wrong with our moonbeam, and I haven't even tried to fix it. Because it's convenient, isn't it? Having someone need me. Having someone who won't leave, or cross me. Having someone just love me, regardless."

"Why does she need to be fixed? I mean, maybe a little more, ah, self-reliance might be good but..." He shrugs a little. "Maybe talk to Wynne, but I don't see it being as bad as all that. I mean, she stood up to you about the gem, didn't she? Even knocked you out."

She winces. "She apologized before she did. I think if I'd been in my right mind she wouldn't have -- and, I don't want her to, to, forget to live if something happens to me. I want, if something happened to me I'd want my clan to go on, to survive." She shakes her head, her voice dropping to a soft mumble. "I've seen enough of that kind of grief."

"Has she... ever argued with you? I mean, actually argued, for more than one exchange?" he asks slowly.

She shakes her head, thinking back. "I don't think so. Well, no, she wanted a puppy. But I caved pretty quickly."

"Still.. progress?" he offers. "Maybe try... telling her you want her to stand up for herself more? Definitely want to talk this over with Wynne," he admits. "I mean, I can't imagine she hasn't noticed, so she must either think it's fine or she's doing something already."

She sighs. "Maybe Wynne's given up on us altogether. I mean, I'm clearly not doing anything healthy here. Maybe it's the best she can do to keep us all free of disease and let the rest go."

"Hey!" Varric says sternly, tapping her on the nose. "You're awesome and we're awesome. A bit quirky, sure, but awesome. Say it."

She smiles, just a little. "You're awesome," she agrees.

"Annnnddddd," he says, giving her a look.

"And I love you." She plants a kiss on his cheek, as if that'll befuddle him into dropping it.

"Also true, and reciprocated, but still waiting," he says patiently.

"Do you want honesty or not?"

"...do you really think that Marian?" he asks sadly.

"Does it surprise you? My whole life has been a fuck-up, from birth until now." She shrugs. "I'm getting better. Maybe someday I'll be worthy of--" _Your love._ "your clan."

He taps her nose again. "Your clan. I might be your father, but you're the Matriarch, the heart of us." He stares a moment, then, "how about this. Can you agree to 'Varric, Merrill, Zevran, Aveline, Wynne, and Isabela all think I'm awesome?'"

"I suppose. I could probably name just as many people that think I'm scum, though, so..."

"Eh, maybe, but they're assholes. And not Clan. Most of them don't you as well either, so... go on then," he prods her.

"Carver knows me well," she says, pointedly. "But, I admit, you all think I'm awesome."

"Yeah, he's under the asshole part," he explains. "Also not Clan." He hugs her close for a moment. "But thank you. Eventually, you'll accept it."

She rests her head on his chest, hugging him back. "Can we stay here a while?" she asks, quietly. "This is nice."

"I don't have any plans for the rest of the afternoon," he agrees, pulling her a little closer so they can get comfortable. He'd evade and bullshit if anyone asked but her, but... yeah, this is nice.

~*~

Summerhill Sanitarium is, objectively speaking, a nice place. The building is new construction, all warm brick and beige-painted timbers. It's three stories high, built around a central courtyard with a lovely garden -- flowers are planted to attract butterflies, and water features are placed strategically to provide a calm, relaxing atmosphere. The patient rooms are along the interior walls, to provide the maximum view of the garden, while consulting rooms, offices, and other essential faculties are around the outside edge, looking out at the city.

The quiet beauty of the place is lost on Hawke for a second time, caught up as she is in her inner mental life. Anders has grown to appreciate it over the past two weeks, however. He draws her attention to it shortly into their visit, after she asks him for the fourth time if he's okay.

"You see? It's a nice place. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure."

Anders is sure. He's sad but not surprised when she breaks off the engagement; when she starts to cry, he holds her close and tells her he was being an ass, he doesn't deserve her, and to go be happy without him. "I let my thirst for vengeance consume me," he tells her. "I let it touch the one pure thing in my life. Don't let it do any more damage than it already has."

~*~

When Varric asks where to next, Marian has a surprising answer: "Temple of Ciren." Not _too_ surprising in light of their previous conversation, but she seems very eager given the emotionally draining conversation she just had. She wobbles a little as they reach the temple, steadying herself on a wall down the street from it.

Varric, to his credit, does offer to come in with her but is already backing up when she turns him down, laughing. The temple is... lovely. It's filled with artwork, most of it not really professional but all of it filled with emotion and passion. Statues, paintings, wood carvings, wind chimes and musical instruments- they're everywhere and only a few are blocked off or behind protective coverings.

It's filled with people too, all of them eagerly doing something or other. There's a pair of humans talking with a naga about the benefits of using soapstone pestles while cooking instead of marble. There's an elven male having his hair braided by a pair of catfolk children while a human male tries to explain how to do the intricate weaving required. It doesn't seem to be going very well, but there's plenty of giggling, so perhaps it is. In a slightly shadowed nook, a pair of figures are moving against each other slowly- both are dressed but they're clearly making out rather heatedly. In another corner, an ancient looking gnome is slowly tuning a string instrument of some kind by himself, a contented smile on his face.

She's left to look around for only a few moments before a beautiful human woman approaches her. "Good evening, miss. I don't think I've see you before, are you a newcomer to our temple?" she asks kindly, her voice low and smokey. She's a touch older than Aveline, maybe in her lower to mid thirties, Marian guesses, but she takes care of herself. She's wearing a light blue sleeveless dress, simple but elegant, with a low bodice that's well filled and a hemline that ends just above her knees. On the swell of her right breast is a tattoo of a butterfly that matches the hue of her dress- Ciren's holy symbol. The skin the tattoo is on is a rich burnt amber color Her hair is a glossy black, with hints of teal, emerald and purple hiding among the curls. Standing out, however, is that she is very visibly pregnant, possibly in the last month or two of it in fact.

Marian's head spins, but she presses a smile to her lips. "I- I am not devoted to Ciren," she begins, just in case she gives the wrong impression. She's put on a nice dress today, one with a bit of lace around the hem, over her usual tan leggings; it seemed appropriate to look nice not only for Anders but for Ciren as well. She feels a little unfeminine though -- the dresses worked better when she wore her hair long, but it's the longest it's been all year right now, reaching chin-length. "I came for... advice."

The woman's lips curve and she dips a little, probably the best she can do in the way of a curtsy given her current condition. "You don't have to have given vows to visit or talk," she assures Marian, head tilting a little to the side. "What kind of advice are you looking for?"

"Ah, um, two things," she begins, nervous. "One is... Health. The other, relationships."

"Alright," she says, still smiling. Offering her hand, she asks, "Where would you feel most comfortable talking? There are some benches here, we can find a spot in the garden or we can use one of the private rooms. Or we can just go for a walk." A pause and the glances down at her stomach ruefully. "Well, a short one with pit-stops anyway."

"I would normally be all for a walk, but... maybe a private room?" she suggests, hesitantly. "I am... still recovering from a magical accident."

"Of course," she says warmly, her hand a few inches away from Marian's arm. "May I?"

"Yes, please." She takes the woman's arm, trying not to lean on her too much, but appreciating the stabilizing influence.

As they walk, the pair get waved and nodded at, but no-one approaches. Clearly, her escort is well known and liked, but they also realize she's with someone and are giving space. The private room is somewhat small, with a chair, a sofa big enough for two people (three if they're Zevran, Merrill and Marian), and a pull-down bed set against the wall. There's a small fire crackling in a fireplace- it's not putting off much heat, but the scent of sweet birch and herbs fills the air giving it welcoming and soothing touch. "Where would you care to sit?" A pause, then a laugh. "I'm sorry, I forgot- I am Brightness Seline, but Seli is fine if you prefer to be informal."

She gives a small curtsey, wobbling a little, before she sits. "Marian Hawke. My friends mostly call me Hawke these days." _With or without terms of endearment._

"Then Hawke it shall be," Seli says brightly, taking the seat across from Marian with a soft sigh of relief. "Worth every day of it, but it can be hard to remember than around the end," she comments, rubbing her rounded stomach. "So, how would you like to begin? Is there anything I can offer to make you more comfortable?"

Marian laughs. "You're the uncomfortable one," she points out. "Are you okay for this? I don't mean to impose, and my questions are... probably difficult ones."

She wrinkles her nose. "Oh Ciren yes. I can't work since while gravid- besides the church, I'm a glassblower and there's far too many chemicals involved with that to risk my boy- so this is the only thing I can do during the day while my husbands are working. I'd go out of my mind if I couldn't at least talk and help people."

The elf nods. "I can get behind that. My first question is probably easier..." She shakes her head, her hand twitching a little. "I recently... until recently, I was getting care and disease prevention from.... from a... from a clinic that has closed. I was wondering if you had recommendations?"

"Ah. Yes, I can give you a list of healers and herbalists that have been given the church's blessing. Do you need a look over today? Aldaina is on duty for anything urgent, she can handle most issues," she replies with a slight expression of concern.

She shakes her head. "I haven't had any new partners in a bit, but I make a habit of getting checked out after I take a new partner, to be safe."

"That's a _very_ good habit to have," she says with approval. "A yearly check-up is fine if you and your partners are only bedding each other, but if you get a new partner, getting checked is very wise. Better for them to be checked before anything happens, but that's not always feasible of course."

"He had said -- well, one of my partners is very... I get checked regularly," she concludes. "But that kind of brings me to my second question."

Seli nods, gesturing for her to continue, then asks, "I can give you two copies of that list, if you wish. One for that other partner, just in case?"

"Let's go with three." She stretches her hands out, looking at her fingers. "Are there.... in the world. I assume you talk to a lot of kinds of people?"

A nod and a smile. "A great many, as many as I can in fact. I've lived in Nyra all my life, but I have traveled a bit, and I love speaking to visitors as well as those in live our wonderful city."

Hawke nods slowly, looking at her lap. "There are a lot of people who try to find their one partner, to settle down and have kids. And there are a lot of people who don't want to settle down, who see sex as a pleasure like food but don't form relationships."

Seli nods. "Monogamy- or serial monogamy, if they have more than one over their lifespan but one at a time. And casual sex. I am fond of the sex and food comparison, it works well to describe it to people who have no experience with the mindset," she adds.

Marian nods again. "But are there people who... who find partners, like the monogamy people, but... more than one? At the same time? Is that... if everyone knows it's happening, is that ethical?"

The priestess flashes a grin. "I gather you missed the plural earlier? Husbands. It's called polygamy, and while not as common as monogamy, it's not unheard of in most places. Nyra even allows for full legal marriage between multiple partners with a dispensation, either one person with multiple spouses or group marriages. As a priestess of Ciren, I was automatically allowed, but I've been told it's tedious but easy enough to do."

"Polygamy...." Marian says, quietly. "How do I... do that?"

"Well, you seem to have figured out the first part: making sure everyone involved knows about everyone else and gives their consent to it. Without that, isn't not polygamy, it's simply cheating, infidelity. Not sharing details is fine, mind you, you're still allowed your privacy, but open communication is key," she answers.

Marian nods. "They keep asking me to... I guess, rank them, or compare them. But I can't. I feel like I'm letting people down. People are getting jealous. I don't know how to.... handle them."

"That... is one of the biggest reasons why monogamy is more popular and common than polygamy," she allows with a wince. "The more moving parts, the more places where friction can occur. You're right to not try and rank them. That only allows one, hmm, victor and breeds resentment. Have you sat down with all of your partners to discuss this or just one-on-one?"

"Uh." she says, blushing. "So I've been playing this by ear, and I'm planning to talk to Ava-- one of them soon about this whole thing, because she asked but I was... incapacitated."

"The magical injury you mentioned," Seli says with a nod. "Life does have a habit of getting in the way." She pauses, then says, "if you wish, you can use nicknames or the like, to make it easier to talk about them without infringing on their privacy."

She nods, slowly. "So my.... Well, my father is calling it my [Clan], so let's go with that. My [clan] started with me and my father, and Fleur, who I love very deeply. But it also includes Minuit, who is... you said, casual sex? That was his role, with myself and Fleur. We all... together, and in pairs separately, in all combinations." She's not sure why naming her clan in Dwarven seems the most right -- maybe just because that's the language they had spoken in before, but maybe because it was Varric who named it. She takes a deep breath. "But then I met Red, and [Lady Lawful]. And I wanted with them something like I had with Fleur. And Fleur knew about them both. She didn't like Red, but she didn't try to stop me or anything. Meanwhile, [Lady Lawful] hasn't done anything like this before and she wants to know what the rules are before we get started. Red and I broke up, um, this morning, technically. And that's before I get into Bella."

Seli blinks a few times, then gives her a somewhat impressed laugh. "You just jumped right into the deep end, didn't you? That's... five partners? Well, three, given you've ended things with Red and are still starting things with... ah, [Laddy Laphil]. Sorry, I don't speak dwarven," she says apologetically.

"Oh, my mistake. Ah, Lady Lawful, is the translation more or less." She rubs the back of her neck. "Minuit and Bella are... just sex. Or they were. Things have gotten complicated with Minuit. I love him, but I don't... he doesn't want to be tied down, and I don't want him to be. I want him to feel free. That's... important. He was a slave before, and I... I want him to be free."

"Even with those that prefer casual sex, it's not uncommon for the shared intimacy to forge bonds." She offers a supportive smile, reaching across the span between their seats. "That isn't to say that you'll form that sort of relationship with Bella- or that you _won't_. But it shows well for you, that you're taking such care with trying to treat each of your partners differently, in regards to how they need to approach a relationship."

Marian nods slowly. "I... messed up, recently."

"Take your time, Hawke." Seli shifts a little, a hand moving to rub her stomach absently. "We can take a break if you need to as well."

"No, it's fine. I..." She takes a deep breath. "Red asked me to marry him, and I accepted. Fleur was there, and she... Red and Fleur were under the impression that marrying Red would mean leaving Fleur. I was not."

"Oh my," Seli says softly. "I imagine that was part of why you broke things off with Red this morning? It doesn't sound like his needs would... mesh with the needs of you and the rest of your...chin-ah-dah?"

She nods to the attempt to sound out the Dwarven word. "My clan, or tribe. Yes." She sighs. "...And also the part where he almost killed me, but that... wasn't his fault. He's in treatment now. But before then, he wanted me to break it off with my other partners and I refused. That was a point of contention between us. I'm concerned Lady Lawful will ask the same, or something similar. It bothers her when I'm with Fleur. She keeps acting like she's a third wheel."

"I can sympathise with Lady Lawful, I went through that phase myself. My two husbands-- legally, they're married to me, because it was easier thanks to my status. But in truth, I'm married to Lovan and more... siblings that sleep naked with each other most nights with Andy. Lovan is bisexual, meaning he's attracted to males and females, much like you I believe. Andy however, is homosexual, or gay by the common parlance. We both love each other, mind you, but we don't have sex or do more than hug or chaste kisses. So it is possible for that sort of thing to be worked through."

She nods, slowly. "I see... So I'm.... bi-sexual?" she asks, hesitantly. "And... that's okay?"

"Probably and absolutely. You might be pansexual- which is when you're more attracted to someone, and their race or gender is a secondary factor. But you mentioned Minute started as casual sex and Bella still is, so that's less likely," she explains, then rolls her eyes at herself. "Sorry, we had a guest Bright earlier this month that spoke on 'the variations of sexuality' and it seems to have stuck a bit. Personally, I thought he was... trying to divide things up a little too much, but some of it seemed rather good."

She nods again, stricken. "I'm just.... I'm still reeling from the idea that there's... this is a real thing. People like me exist."

"Yes we do," she says warmly. "Given that you seem to have discovered most of this yourself, by chance and instinct, it must be so very strange to find others have traveled similar paths as yourself. I was very lucky myself, as my aunt was a Cirenite and as soon as she realized I was bisexual, she made sure to be there for me and help me understand what I was feeling."

Marian nods, laying back against the couch and closing her eyes. "So what's the secret? How do I make this work?"

"There's no spell or hidden technique, I'm afraid. Honesty, trust, constant communication and making sure you're clear and upfront, not just about your situation but about your needs and desires... it's a lot of hard work. But, and I'm admittedly a bit biased, but it's worth it. Love and pleasure are not finite and I firmly believe that it can be shared and shared again." She smiles faintly, eyes soft, clearly thinking of her loved ones.

Marian nods, a small nod, keeping her eyes closed. _This couch is... comfortable._ "Honesty and openness," she murmurs, not realizing she's speaking Dwarven again.

Noticing her reaction, Seli starts to hum softly, her voice soft and soothing, in the tune of a very, very old Celestial lullaby. It's not long before Hawke falls into the dark abyss of her unconscious mind.

~*~

She wakes, eventually; her Varric is there, waiting to take her home.

She spends most of the next day in bed, resting, but the day after, she is itching and restless to get out and see how the city's doing. As a compromise, Merrill and she go together to try and hunt down the nearest of the Ciren-approved clinics. This clinic provides not only the type of service she's looking for, but also information about pregnancy, childbirth, and raising young children in a healthy and stimulating environment. As such, there are a number of little kids in the waiting room, as well as a few pregnant women.

Merrill was... actually a lot better than last time, after the gem, about the hovering. She's still always nearby, still constantly glancing over at Marian, but at least she's not asking if she's okay every five minutes. Or giving using a sad kitten face whenever Marian sighs, groans, winces or attempts to do anything that might be taxing. Which is probably a lot less taxing on Marian.

Once they arrive at the clinic, the elf only spends a few minutes fussing over Marian before she settles. And spots a tiny little half-elf girl with hair the same color as Marian's. Nothing like her in most other ways, but the hair is spot on. Merrill sighs, a long melting sound, and leans into her lover. "...do you- need to rest more?" They're already sitting. And have been for several minutes.

Marian smiles, pressing a kiss to Merrill's temple before speaking softly in Elven: "I'm fine, dear heart."

As they wait, a couple comes in and sits across from them. The woman is clearly pregnant; the pair of them are both dressed in black clothing, though, and he has his arm around her for support. "It's alright," he murmurs to her as they settle.

"I just can't help but remember..."

"Penelope's in a better place," he replies, soothingly.

Merrill doesn't seem to be paying much attention to the couple, aside from a curious look at the woman's stomach. Instead, she sighs as she cuddles up to Marian. "That's good. I'm glad you're more comfortable. With yourself I mean. After talking to that nice Seli lady."

"Me too," says Marian quietly. "Someday.... we'll figure out something more long-term. But for now, this is good."

"Excuse me," says the dwarf on the other side of the male half of the pregnant couple. "I couldn't help but hear-- you are in mourning?"

The male half of the couple frowns, but the woman nods, dabbing at her eyes tearfully. "My daughter, Penelope."

"I sorrow for your loss. Here, I'm in a support group called Memento Mori. It's for people who have lost close kin: children, parents, siblings." He offers them a flier.

Marian's ear twitches a little. _A... support group? Why didn't I hear of this? After... After Bethany?_

Merrill nods a little, noticing that the other conversation has taken a bit of Marian's attention but not minding. She... she still worries, about being... alone again. About not having anyone that accepts her, wants her. But...

_'You're not alone anymore Moonbeam. And I don't just mean Hawke. You've had a handle on your magic for months now and Wynne's retired. You're not just her student, you realize that, don't you? And Flirts loves you, even if he's worse with admitting that sort of thing than a dwarf. And... yeah, I mean, well, it's pretty clear that you and Hawke are... solid. And she's... who she is to me. So... I mean, that kinda makes you the same in a way. In-laws, I guess is what I'm trying to say. So... just remember that okay? You've a family now, it's okay to be you."_

It had been awkward and fumbling and she's not sure why he didn't just give her a hug or say that he loves her instead of using all those words but she understands him now. Understands people better now. They don't think very straight and they saw things at weird angles a lot. Use words when a gesture will do and gestures when words are needed. Or nothing at all when anything is needed. Silly really. But so very interesting!

"Do you think I should have a talk with Lady Lawful? By myself, I mean?" the elf asks curiously during the pause where the couple glance at the flyer and the dwarf waits for them to finish.

"Yes, but... after I talk her through how I see things, alright?" She turns her attention back to Merrill, leaving the grieving couple be. "And you and I need to talk through some things on the way back to the house, I think."

~*~

Both ladies are in good health, as they'd expected, but new healer means new record, so a check-up they most go to. Merrill is.. a strange patient- trained enough to understand what the healer is doing and want to discuss it, but off enough that it's good that Merrill seemed to placidly insist without saying a word that Marian be there during her check-up. Not like it was all that invasive anyway.

"Oh, look, a bakery. Are you hungry? I could use something sweet... but only if you want something too. If you're tired, we can go straight home. Unless you need to rest, in which case we should get something so you can sit," she comments, twisting her head back and forth from scoping out the offerings in the window and checking out Marian's expression.

"Sweets are nice," she says, with a patient smile. After they purchase some dessert breads, however, she does try to bring up the thing she'd wanted to talk about: "So, Merrill... as you know I'm a half-elf."

Merrill nods slowly, head tilted. "Well, sort of-- you're part dwarf now, right?"

She nods. "Only in my soul. My body, however... My body is frailer than yours. It won't last as long." She keeps her tone gentle, her words slow.

Merrill stills for a second, head dipping. She picks at her sweet bread silently. Finally, she nods, a small, quiet nod, without looking up.

"I hope we have a long life together. I intend to make sure it's as long as I can. Because I love you." She takes a deep breath. "But. Someday, you will outlive me."

Merrill swallows hard. "I... don't like to think about that," she admits. "I... accept it. Most of the time. I knew... half-elves live a little longer than humans but..." She swallows again, hard. "I don't want you to go, but I can't... I know you'd leave me. If I tried to... do something. To... stop it. From happening, I mean. And... we'd met again, wouldn't me? After, I mean? If you still love me and we're good people, we-- Mileen is said to be kind, she wouldn't--"

Marian reaches for Merrill's hand squeezing tightly. "I believe we would."

Merrill nods, eyes wet, as she grasps Marian's hand tightly. "And... and Varric. He said... he said we're.. well, that if you're his, and I'm yours, then we're also, ummm, I don't know how to finish that sentence. But I mean- Clan. Your Clan. Even if you're... missing. We'd still.. be Clan. Until you're back. Zevran and Varric and... well, Wynne would probably..." She sniffles.

"[Clan]," she agrees, with a nod. "If something happened to me... I wouldn't want you to obsess over me. I would want you to look after the rest of the Clan, and let them look after you. To do your best to move forward."

Merrill squirms a little, clearly not liking this topic. "I... no. I can't. Not- I won't neglect our Clan, I promise that. I swear. But I won't let you go, not if- not unless we got the time together we should. I won't let the world take you early, I can't. Please don't ask me to, my brightest star."

Hawke walks a half dozen steps in silence, thinking. Finally, she speaks quietly: "My sister died, when we fed Golden Shores. Bethany. I'm sure I've mentioned her." She takes a deep breath. "My mother... still mourns."

Merrill had nodded at the first part, but she scowls a the second. "And she hurts you- hurts all of those who would have loved and cared for her. That's not mourning, that's... a selfish, greedy, hateful kind of... nothing! She's not doing anything! Just... wasting away, wasting you. And wasting Carver too, even if he is mean. I wouldn't do that. If-- if you were lost. I'd look after our Clan. And then, if it was too soon, I'd bring you back home." She nods firmly, determination clear in her eyes. A pause and she falters a little. "With Varric and Wynne, because I promised."

"When I was ill, after the gem..." the half-elf begins, softly. "You were... not taking care of yourself."

The elf wilts a little. "I... I know. That was.. bad. I shouldn't... if I don't take care of myself, I can't take of anyone else," she almost sing-songs that last bit. "Healer's first rule. I... I'll remember it now, I promise. I've been doing okay this time, right?" she asks, looking at Marian for validation in her assertion.

"You've been doing better, dear heart. I just... I worry. I don't want you to suffer and waste away."

Merrill shakes her head sharply. "I won't, I promise. I've a Clan now," she says, the sentence laden with a heaping dose of stunned amazement and more than a little rapturous joy. "I won't let them down. Any of them. Not our Clan, my shining heart."

Marian's response is only to kiss Merrill. _Thank the gods. She'll be alright after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight! Are you excited?
> 
> Seli is the first major OC we've brought into the fic, but she won't be the last. Or well, in the sequel anyway, now that I've decided to split the story.
> 
> This is also the first appearance of the Clan Words: Honesty, Openness, Trust. I've done a wall hanging for my living room with those words and an embroidery of a hawk in mid-dive, just to remind myself. I hope the sexuality talk helped clear up any lingering questions you had about the nature of this story: I'm not going to resolve any of these love triangles, but instead am building toward polyamory and a Clan built on trust. There will be mistakes along the way -- like with Anders -- but they'll be sticking it out through thick and thin.


	11. Changing One's Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk with Aveline about their relationship; a talk with Isabela, about theirs; a talk with Carver.

After dinner, Marian takes a walk to visit Aveline. She stops and purchases a bouquet along the way, and she pauses by a rainwater barrel to fix her hair before she knocks on the front door. _Don't be nervous. It's fine. Everything'll be fine._

It takes a second knock,then a third, before there's a response. "Scale and claw, I'm a paladin of Vangal, stop trying to share the word of--" The door is yanked open at that point and Aveline's word halt. Her hair is wet, she's wearing a very heavy bathrobe and she's carrying her naked blade in one hand. "...oh. You're... not that priest again." she says lamely.

Hawke blushes, offering her bouquet. "Hi. Got a minute?"

Aveline flushes herself, starting to reach for it and then realizing she's holding her sword in that hand. "Oh, ah, just-- come in and let me... put this away," she says awkwardly, stepping back to let Marian enter.

Marian smiles, following behind her. "I'll just find a vase while you, ah, tidy up?" _Vangal knows I wouldn't mind seeing more of that body, but I doubt she's ready._

"I.." She looks flustered for a moment, then, "I'll just go sheathe this. Won't be but a minute." With that, she hurries off, only pausing to toss a "under the sink. Should be.. .something for them."

Marian watches her leave a moment, licking her lips faintly, before she goes to the kitchen. _Yup. Definitely wouldn't mind seeing more of her._

Aveline returns in less than a minute, as promised. She's still in the robes, but she's got a towel in hand and is trying to dry off her hair without actually being noticed drying of her hair. Still, it was enough time for Marian to find an empty bottle, but only just enough. "Did you-- oh, good, you find a bottle." And then she falls silent, clearly uncertain about... what one does in a situation like this.

"So, how's your day going?" asks Marian, awkwardly, as she sets up the flowers on the table.

"I... alright, I suppose," she says slowly, then scowls. "Priest of Naugrix aside. I have the Holy Shield of Vangal on my front door, in my window and a line of his scripture on my door mat; why would you try to proselytize to me of all the houses on this block? Six times he's been back this week! And the last three all as I was trying to bathe! And he just wouldn't take a hint, just keep blathering on."

She laughs. "He's sweet on you," she explains.

"What? No, he's an idiot who..." she falters, glancing down at herself. "I'm going to arrest him for-- for--" she sputters for a moment, trying to find a legitimate crime. "Damnit." She pauses then, giving Marian a sidelong glance. "So... you're... also here. When I'm trying to bathe. Does, ah, that mean you're sweet on me as well?" she asks.

_Is she... flirting?_ Marian's grin widens. "Guilty as charged. What's my punishment?"

"I..." she licks her lips, hands stilling as they try to towel off her hair, which is doing some nice things for her upper torso. "More... community service," she tries after a moment. "Under me."

" _Under_ you?" she asks, rolling the words around in her mouth as she wiggles her eyebrows. "I think I can manage that."

Oh hey, Aveline's blushes go rather... south. "I-- Hawke! That's... you still owe me a talk. Two of them actually. Well, three."

She laughs, taking a seat at the table. "That's actually why I'm here."

"Oh. Good. Well. You start," she says briskly, taking a seat at the kitchen table. She gestures for Hawke to do the same before going back to her hair. And... actually, Marian's never seen Aveline with her hair down. Well, just the once, right after the gem, but she wasn't really engaged, mentally. The paladin has an awful lot of it, enough to reach her waist at least, and it's thick and wavy. Wet like now, it's a deep, almost crimson red.

"Right." She takes a deep breath. "So I stopped by the Temple of Ciren the other day and... found out the words for what I am, what I'm doing." She pauses, then adds, "and Varric gave me other words, too. He... suggests, that we're putting together a clan -- an extended family, all of us together. The Cirenites call that 'polygamy', stable relationships with more than one person. Marriage to more than one person."

Aveline stills for a moment, then resumes. "...polygamy," she repeats carefully, tasting the word. She almost noticeably accepts the label, relaxing a little. "Okay. That's... good. What does that entail, being polygamy? Being a polygamy... couple?" She frowns again.

She nods. "It's like being a monogamous couple -- ah, a normal couple, a pairing -- except, I'm also a couple with Merrill, and a whatever with Zevran, and a whatever else with Isabela, and so on. And you can also be a couple with anyone you want, it goes both ways. We, I-- I'm learning that this is different about me, but I don't see my relationship with Merrill as having any bearing on what we have together. Merrill is Merrill and you are you and I feel different ways about both of you, because you're different people, but both those ways are romantic-- sorry, I'm starting to sound like Merrill myself."

Aveline chuckles a little. "It's actually kind of cute- in small doses. Though she is... settling. You're good for her," she comments softly. "And her for you. I... I think I can accept that. You being with others, sexually, romantically. I think... I think I need to get to know them better. I doubt they'll ever be as important to me as you, but we should at least get along, I think. Be friends." She furrows her brow as she thinks, rubbing getting more vigorous. "But I think I understand, about... valuing both just as much but different. It's... I-" Deep breath. "I love you," she says firmly, seemingly focusing on her hair so her hands can be doing something. "But I love my duty. I need it. I need you. I couldn't- choosing between them - between you- would- it would be impossible."

Marian nods slowly. "You do understand," she says, her voice coming out in a relieved rush. "I told Varric, I can't choose between him and Merrill, even though they're different ways of loving. It's just not something I'm capable of doing."

Aveline nods tightly. "I'd break myself in half first, trying to serve you both, before I let either down. I... Do... Merrill kissed me. Is that going to- I mean, is that part of how these works?"

"That's between you and Merrill," says Hawke with a smile. "It's not part of me and you."

"I need to talk with her then. I'm.. not interested in that with her. Maybe... Right now,, at least," she admits, pausing to use her fingers to comb out a tangle. Err, that caused her robe to... show a lot more than she likely realizes. Still covering more than some things Isabela wears in public, though only after dark. "I wasn't interested in any of that with you either, at first, so maybe I don't... Rust, I didn't even realize I could be interested in a woman. I've never... thought that way, even a little before you."

Marian nods. "I lost my virginity to a man and a woman at the same time. For me, that's normal. But I can see how it's not for you."

And her blushes go even further than she'd seen before. "You- you lost your-" She coughs softly. "That's... interesting. And... informative. Speaking of which- you.. you don't talk about... what we do with anyone, do you?"

"Not if you don't want me to. I know Zevran doesn't mind, though, for one, and I doubt Merrill would care if I shared." She shrugs. "I like being open -- oh, the clan words are Honesty, Openness, and Trust -- but I keep secrets if I need to."

"Clan words? Are you thinking of registering as a legal dwarven clan?" she asks, sounding surprised. "I thought you were just using the word for... convenience. Anyway, yes, I would prefer you not share.. private thing. I should be more exact," she mutters, thinking a moment, her hands lacing behind her head to brace them as she concentrates.

"Probably not legally, but we're dwarves. If we're going to have a Clan, we may as well have words." She shrugs.

Aveline nods, still thinking. "I don't mind if you tell... those in the clan, that we're together of course. Or... in broad terms, that we're pursuing intimate relations. But don't give... details. Just if- when- we have sex, just say we spent the night together, not any details of what we did," she says, her tone having shifted to a brisk cadence, just like she uses to give reports. "Certainly no descriptions of actual acts. Or of my appearance. Or that I- or about my inexperience in such matters." She fixes her gaze somewhere over Marian's shoulder.

Hawke nods briskly. "I can do that. Though, your lack of recent experience is... known." she says, with a small wince. "Zevran was teasing me the other day when I mentioned I wanted to pursue a relationship. I uh... I prefer that the people in the Clan know about each other and my relationship statuses with each, to prevent... well..." She shakes her head. "Nevermind. Just, things have gone badly before."

Aveline winces a little. "I... I suppose it's ... obvious, to an extent," she allows, then gives Hawke a snap glance. "I meant that... it... as I mentioned, I'd never even considered, ah, interacting with a female like this before. And, well, I've only.. Wesley and I... we were in the same unit. Regulations forbid... getting too close so nothing... of that nature happened." She clears her throat. "I just figured you should be aware, so you don't... have any expectations." Glad to be past that, she continues briskly, resuming her attempts to dry her hair in what is clearly a rather long project thanks to how long and thick it is. "But knowing, in a non-detailed way, about the status of everyone involved is very understandable. Sharing intel among a unit is the best way to avoid having individuals fall out of sync or act on their own."

Hawke's eyes widen at the realization. "Oh! I didn't realise -- okay. Not a problem." She smirks to see Aveline consider her clan a unit. "I love your efficiency."

Aveline nods, the movement crisp. "Thank you." She pauses, eyes shifting to the side again in what Marian is starting to realize preludes a confession or the discussion of something embarrassing. "We... we were stationed out-Nyra, at a small village. Went through training together, had a few iterations afterwards in postings here prior. But we... it was a two year posting. And we... became friends. Then more. He.. he was very... he was patient. And he cared." Her eyes dart to Marian for a second, lips curving. "I was... not as... driven then, but still didn't make friends easily. But he reached me. We... after we realized we had begun to love each other, we put in for reassignment. He proposed the day our new orders came in- me for Coalside, him for the Bazaar, effective at the new season. A week later, he- he was-" She pauses, eyes closing and her hands lowering to clasp in front of her breastbone.

"I'm sorry that happened," Marian says, quietly. Her chest aches; somehow, it's easier to sympathise with and recognize Aveline's pain than to dwell on her own. She wants to tell her, to explain how she knows that feeling exactly, but... "We have to talk about something else," she says, slowly. "I mean -- something specific, you've reminded me of. I am... my friends are... Well. You know the kind of people I'm close to."

Aveline nods, expression tight. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. "Yes. Well. that's... the next talk," she says carefully, her voice non-judgemental but serious. "Are... is there more, about... how this polygamy works that we need to discuss first?"

She shrugs. "I'm still working on the details. But I think you have the gist of it now."

Aveline nods, shifting in her position. Her hair is still a little damp, but she leans forward to rest her hands on the table. This isn't Guardswoman Vallen, but there's more than a few shades of her in Aveline's posture. "What's the story about your brother stabbing you?" she asks, taking care to make every word clear and distinct.

Marian sighs. "My question first, I think. What... My clan words are honesty, openness, and trust. Can I trust you? Can I be honest and open? Or am I giving you the story I give the guard? I don't want to put you in a bad spot, knowing something you can't report, but I can't betray my family by giving them up to crooked justice."

"Crooked jus-" she snaps, eyes alight with anger- and hurt. "Is that- that what you think of me?"

"Not you. I know you." She shakes her head. "If the guard were staffed entirely with people like you, I wouldn't think twice before telling the truth."

Aveline stares at Marian, hard, needing to be absolutely certain that the half-elf isn't just covering, that she honestly feels that way. After a moment, she nods curtly. "The guard, as a whole, is a good group. Dedicated, loyal and honest. But... I will not deny that there are... those that do not belong. I... do not approve of avoiding the whole out of concern for those few, but I can... understand," she finally says, renewing her vow to change this. To make it so even the most bitter, the most cynical and the most afraid will be able to trust anyone in the uniform. "Honesty, openness and trust," she says after a moment. "I... I've said I couldn't... choose. Between you and Duty. If you... confessed to outright murder or the like, I honestly don't know what I would do. I..." She takes a deep breath, then continues, "but if you told me Isabela or Zevran or even Merrill had done so, I would... choose Duty. So. But I also trust you. If you... tell me it's not a story I can hear, I'll accept that and won't ask again. But tell me what you can, please. I need to... know about your life, all of it, as much as I can be allowed to know."

She nods, slowly. "This is... assault, only, and an old story. I don't want to make a case in court. I don't want to bring anything down on his head. Truly, I believe it was only a fine-worthy offense. Is that... a story you can hear?"

"...how old?" she asks after a moment. "Simple assault must be reported within seven months- but Varric said 'with a sword' so that's armed assault so that's two years," she mutters, mostly to herself. She pauses, then adds, louder, "if you refuse to press charges, then it would require that a citizen of good standing had witnessed it or the immediate result for the city to press charges on your behalf. The most I could do at this point is harass him and that's an abuse of my office. So... yes, you can tell me. I can't do anything without you starting things with a formal report." That's... splitting hairs, as telling the story to a guard is grounds for a charge, but she can accept the distinction that Marian is telling Aveline, not Hawke telling Captain Vallen. _Captain. What a damned joke._

She nods. "Alright. Then, to begin with... you know I'm a refugee? I wasn't lying for sympathy, the day we met. I came from Golden Shores. This happened... let's say two years ago." She shrugs. "It's close enough, and by the time you investigated anything I'm telling you it'd have been two years anyway." She takes a deep breath. "Back then... there were stories, rumors, about the guards. Nothing provable or I'd have snuck a note into your files. But there were stories of... guards taking advantage of refugees. Making up fines and pocketing the silver, since we didn't know better. Harassing us to get off the streets. Even now, there are people who want us village folk out of the city, regardless where we came from. So I couldn't go to you with this. But..." She swallows. "Golden Shores... you know how it fell apart, right? How that... happened?"

Aveline nods, hesitates, then slowly reaches across the table. "I... I've read your files. It... there's a note, about you being in the Refugee Fund, and I wanted to..." She flushes a little. "I wanted to know more about you, and didn't know how to ask so... I dug up everything I could." She winces, realizing how that sounds.

Marian takes her hand, looking down at their hands instead of up at Aveline's face. "Alright, well... there was... a superstition in my home town, that... living so close to Nyra, we heard tales of the worst things magic could do frequently. And tales of the best, but that was... easy to write off as bragging. It was easy to see back then, the path that magic took. How people took up magic in order to become powerful, but power is addictive, and it would lead you to use more and more magic until the idea of not using it became intolerable. There was always the next level of power up, you see, and... we taught that the chain ends with demons, mostly. That the ultimate lure of power came from selling yourself into bondage under a demon. It happened... there were witches in Golden Shores long before I was born, and until they were all purged, demon attacks were becoming more and more regular. So when demons... when my sister was killed, escaping from that nightmare... My family feels the stories are true. That demon summoning is the ultimate end and purpose of magic."

"I've run into similar beliefs before. Devils more often than demons, but... not really that much of a difference to most people," she admits. "And I can't say I've never had to deal with someone that's followed that path. It's rare, thank Vangal, but it does happen. So I can understand how that could take root, especially if they've had to live through an example of magic going wrong." She dithers a moment, then stands, shifts her chair closer to Marian and very tentatively rests her fingers on Marian's clasped hands, ready to yank her hand away if Marian flinches.

Marian relaxes slightly, though whether it's from the touch or Aveline's words is hard to say. "When I learned I had magic... I was resistant to it, for a long time. I had to be tricked into magic lessons, sort of. I didn't admit to myself that I was a mage for a while, either. I figured I was learning how to not accidentally cast, not how to cast intentionally. Somehow that distinction made a difference to me. But.. I didn't tell my family where I was going. Or much of anything about my life."

Aveline keeps her hand gentle on Marian's, while her other balls into a fist around her robe. _Oh Hawke... I've been a guard too long to not guess where that sort of thing leads. Children associating with races or cultures their parents don't approve of, kids from wizard families learning other magic, or ones from magical bloodlines not following the traditional path. Young lovers hiding their interests for any number of reasons. And yes, sometimes it's someone hiding their descent into crime or the like. It almost never works out pleasantly._

"They noticed I was gone a lot, and I guess my brother, Carver, wanted to know where I was going. And he found out I was visiting a mage, was learning from her, and..."

Aveline frowns. _And... It's always 'and...' with these stories. Given how Marian had started, her brother probably jumped right to demons. Almost lucky it happened this way, instead of Carver confronting Wynne. Or worse, Merrill. Wynne would have been fine, but Merrill... if he didn't down her instantly... Merrill is a simple soul and wouldn't have hesitated to defend herself with lethal force. While a part of her might wish things were simpler, than it was just her and Marian, she'd never wish the pain of that on either of them. Ever. Knowing your lover killed your brother? That your brother tried to kill her? Bastion's mercy, that would... terrible. Horrific._

Hawke shakes her head, lost in her own story. "Things got heated. I screamed at him, he screamed back. We relate to each other that way, typically. We go to fisticuffs, too, always have. But I guess he'd just bought a sword and hadn't had it peacebonded -- didn't want to pay the fee -- and he got mad and..."

_And that's why we have that Law!_ Aveline shouts in her mind. _And what fee? Yes, you have to pay a blacksmith or the like, but any of the legal houses in Bedrock will do it for free. Sure, it can take... all day to wait in line, fill out the forms and then wait some more, but..._

The half-elf takes a deep breath. "It was a gut wound, a nasty one. Went straight through me. We were both shocked. I guess he expected me to dodge, and I didn't expect him to have a sword. He was horrified and I was terrified and I stumbled out into the street, barely grabbed my cloak. I hid the wound as best I could and... I was living in Coalside back then, so it was a ways to Wynne's. I don't know how I made it. But I did. And she patched me up."

Aveline sighs. _You're a strong person, Marian. Not just to live, but to forgive him for that. Why didn't he help you, if it was an accident? How could he let anyone, much less his sister, just walk away after hurting them like that? Coward._

Marian smiles fondly. "Varric was ready to kill him. I told him not to, that he wasn't so bad. That's when he started giving me shit about it. Any time I talked about going back to live with my family -- that was the day I moved in with Varric -- or talked about forgiving them or even talking to them, he'd remind me what happened, so I wouldn't... gloss over it, like I tended to with smaller hurts."

Now the guardswoman feels compelled to step in. "That's... He didn't tell me about this. On purpose, I mean. He-- when you were ill, I was visiting, and I overheard him muttering to himself, that this was 'just as bad as when her damn brother stabbed her in the gut. With a sword. Worse even, because-' He cut off then, when he noticed me. He tried to... brush it off but I... well, he hadn't sleep in far too long and I pressed rather hard. He admitted it happened, but told me to ask you first. That you had the right to answer." She pauses. "I'm glad you did. I know it must have been hard, so... thank you. For telling me. For trusting me."

Hawke nods slowly, taking one hand back to brush a tear from her eyes. "Yeah. It's... it's almost a joke now, him teasing me about it. He... he really...." Her throat closes, but she shakes her head, refusing to let fear stop her anymore. "He really loves me. He's saved my life so many times... I just can't let go of the idea that... my family could be whole again. That we could be a real family, not these strangers who grew up together."

Aveline nods herself. "I understand," she says softly. "My parents... they died when I was fifteen. That's.. one reason, among many, why I joined the Guard so young. My mother was guard, and she... I was always so proud of her. So was Papa. It... they were my foundation, the bedrock upon which I built everything I am now. I could never imagine giving up on them, or how it would feel to have them... turn on me. What it would be like, to have that feeling taken from you. I can understand wanting it back, if it's just an illusion." She offers a smile, trying to make eye contact. "But you do have that, again now. With your- our- Clan, right?"

She nods, slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Which is why I get a little..." She hesitates. "Fanatical, I guess, when anything threatens that." She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I want to tell you... about Anders. But there are parts I can't tell you. Probably can't ever. Is that... can you... can I? Tell you some of the truth?"

Aveline considers it a moment, giving it some true thought. "I want to know you. All of you. Tell.. tell me what you can. Just... remember I'm good at what I am, so please be careful. I'll try not to... dig, but if you dangle something I can't ignore, I will have to look. So... take your time, alright?" She shifts, trying to get comfortable, and... why can she feel air on... Glancing down, she flushes, then yanks her robes closed and glares at Marian.

She nods, slowly, not seeming to even see Aveline's lovely torso. "I can't tell you what he's mixed up in, but it... came to a head, and he came to me for help while I was still recovering from the gem. It... I urged him to turn himself in, straight away. I was going to take him to you if he agreed, since that was his best shot at a fair trial, but he refused. He... wanted me to help him get away with it, and I refused." _That's not entirely accurate, but I didn't help with the cover-up, so I'll leave it at that._ "If he wouldn't turn himself in, I urged him to get out of Nyra. That would take him away from bad company, and out of the mess entirely." _Now that's a straight out lie, but better to let her think he's involved in gangs or drugs than what he did._ "But he refused. Instead, he wanted my protection against retaliation." _That'll make her think gangs for sure._

Aveline's jaw tenses. "Stop. Just-" she stands up abruptly, walking over to the sink. "Hawke, you're... you're very good at lying. But I can still tell." She rests her hands on the sink, back to Hawke. "Don't lie to me. I can't... I can't live with that. Tell me the truth or tell you can't."

Hawke hunches her shoulders, wiping away tears. "I can't," she says, her voice miserable. "Aveline. I'm trying, I really am. I just... if you knew what he'd done... it would destroy my Clan. We've taken care of it. He won't, he can't, reoffend. If you... If you get involved, everything will have been for nothing. But, please, I want to tell you this story. I want you to know me."

Aveline gripes the counter tightly, breathing in and out slowly. "You're certain? He's... stopped. For good and... at least close to... if not legally, then, in the spirit of the law?" she asks very tightly.

She nods. "I solved the problem." she says, quietly. "He won't... he's not a danger now."

"Alright. I'll trust you. Just... please don't lie. If you can't... if you can't share part of it, then just... say that. I'll work around the gaps." She turns back to Marian. "I've accepted that you're not as... bound by the rule of law as I am. I need it. I need laws and rules and for things to be defined, I always have. But-" she smiles faintly, giving Marian a fond, almost sappy look. "One rule I've found lately is that I can't be happy without you. So. I can accept that. Accept you being... you. My... shades of gray."

Marian smiles shyly, still not looking up. "Anders was.... Well, I'll get to that. At the time, I thought he was being pigheaded. He gets that way, sometimes. I agreed to work for him, figuring I could wear him down -- either go to the guard or leave town. But..." She takes a deep breath. "I want to start by saying nobody was hurt. Okay? No crimes, just a... just a misunderstanding." Another deep breath, but she doesn't wait, she presses on. "Varric tried to kill him. Didn't, because I was there. He was trying to clean the matter up before I could get involved. I recognized his bolt, and... I was... I was not in a good place. I was-- am-- in love with Anders, and Varric betrayed me like that, I..." She shakes her head. "It broke something inside me."

_Attempted_ murder is still a crime, part of her grumbles, but she pushes it aside to go to her... whatever Marian is. The same part of her grumbles again, demanding a name for it, but again she pushes it aside with a little more effort. Silently, she puts a hand on Marian's shoulder, wordless offering support.

Marian leans back, pressing her head against Aveline's stomach, taking more comfort from her presence.

"I took him to Wynne. She told him the same thing -- turn yourself in, or leave town. He agreed to leave, but only... only if I came with him. He proposed to me. We'd been talking about the idea of marriage, of having children, and I... I wanted to get away from Varric for a while. So I agreed. That went badly, with Merrill and then with Varric, and... when all that was resolved, I came back for Anders." Another deep breath. "Anders was... not himself. The spirit bound to him, the source of his magic, had physically taken control of his body. He attacked Wynne. That's when I realized it wasn't Anders doing these things, committing these crimes. It was Justice, his spirit. Wynne managed to subdue him, and we took him to Summerhill for treatment."

She pauses, then adds, "He's there, now. The intervention went well. He's a changed man, Aveline, he... regrets what he did. The danger of relapse... he's going to have to stay there for at least some years, if not the rest of his life." Stupid tears. Be stronger, Marian. "There's nothing left for the guard to do."

Aveline catches some... shading going on, but that's understandable. Hawke's not a guard giving a report about something impersonal, with at least a year of training on how to be detached and concise. There's going to be things she doesn't want to speak out loud, things she can't say. And some of those might be things she can't say to her, specifically. But it felt... true. "Thank you, _amata_ ," she says softly, using her other hand to gently run her fingers through Marian's hair. "If... if someone is possessed, it's... they're not responsible for what the possessor does," she says slowly. "It's a crime to have allowed it, but the subsequent crimes are only- if you had reason to believe they would do evil, then you can be charged with conspiracy or accessory but not the full weight. So... Summerhill is... not what should have been done, entirely, but it's... enough. Did... what was done, by this spirit, is that also.. handled? The victims, were they cared for as best you could?"

The half-elf flinches. "I don't... actually know. Because... Aveline, this treatment he needed, it was... dangerous. To the practitioner." She hesitates, trying to figure out how to best put this into words.

Aveline's fingers go still. "...Anders," she says quietly. "You weren't suffering from Mummy Rot or any disease at all, where you?" Marian shakes her head, silent. Aveline sighs a little. "You know... if I'd gotten to you earlier, before Varric, you'd have made a great guard," she says almost wistfully. "Devoted, brave, kind-hearted, busy-body, self-sacrificing, stubborn and just innately decent."

"Thanks," she says, quietly. "I don't think I'm all that good, but I try."

"Paladin," Aveline says firmly, tapping the top of the half-elf's head as if in reprimand. "Final mortal arbiters of good and right you know. So shush."

She smiles, her shoulders slumping. "Can't argue with that. Still..." She breathes deeply, straightening a bit as she steels herself for the next part. "The treatment involved going into... it was like... it was the inside of his mind, done in metaphor. I barely understand it myself. But, the goal was to talk to his real, true self, his soul deep within his madness, and convince him to see reason. His spirit, Justice, is... was... a piece of his mind, broken off and given life via magic. So we needed the rational part of him to take the upper hand or it could very well become Anders, become the dominant personality. And I... I failed. I tried my best, but he... Justice... he killed me." She shudders in horror, remembering those blank eyes, the pain of that final stab. "I was... they tell me I was in a coma for a week. Nobody knew if I'd live."

_That's... not possession, that's... mental instability? Some kind of combination of both, there's no established precedent for it, not that she can recall,_ Aveline realizes as she focuses on that, trying to ignore... Seconds slip by after Marian finishes speaking before Aveline can allow herself to focus on the outcome. "I... have greatly underestimated Varric's sense of honor," she says hoarsely. "He really isn't anything like his brother."

_That was... not what I was expecting to hear._ "Why do-- I mean, yes, you have, but why do you... say that?"

"You said earlier he promised not to kill Carver about stabbing you. Seemed reasonable you'd have extracted much the same about Anders. But even after days of you maybe dying, Anders is still alive," Aveline says distantly. "I wouldn't have given him that much credit, given how this feels."

A faint smile graces her lips. "No. He was... we were... not speaking. I told him..." Her voice breaks, and she struggles against tears. "If I had died... the last thing I'd have said to him was... " _Congratulations. You'll never see me again._ "Was horrible," she concludes.

"But it wasn't," she says firmly, resuming her finger combing of Marian's hair. Having her close like this, it's... nicer than she would have thought. Nicer than she remembers being close to... but then, she never lets herself remember any of that. Hadn't even spoken his name to anyone but Vangal and Mileen- and even they never out loud- since she delivered the news of his death to his family. "You're still alive and now a Clan. Never forgot your mistakes, nor your sins, but don't dwell. And always..." she swallows. "Remember the joy and love." _It's good hypocrisy isn't a mortal sin_ , she thinks bitterly to herself.

"I don't deserve you," she whispers. "You're so strong, and brave, and wise... I just keep failing people, keep not being good enough."

"I'm also hidebound, blunt, heartless and inflexible," she replies evenly. "I'm not..." she tugs, gently, on Marian's hair to try and make her look upwards. "You are a worthy, amata, of far more than me. If you have failed, it was because the world can be cruel, not because you are weak."

_Bethany..._ She doesn't speak her sister's name; she lets her head be tugged, looking up at Aveline. Her wonderful, glorious Aveline. Her strong, stalwart warrior. "You're not heartless," she says quietly. "You're trying to help me." After a brief pause, she tries a leaf out of Zevran's book: "As for flexible, well, we'll see about that, shall we?"

"...only with you, amata. Only with you does my heart beat again," she murmurs, then sighs a little. "You have more to share then? I can-" A pause as she studies Marian's face and her own reddens. "...you're a pervert," she scolds weakly, looking away.

"Guilty," she admits, her smile broadening. "What can I say, I lost my virginity to Zevran. I'm corrupted for life."

A wince. "That better not be a requirement," she grumbles.

"Zevran? Or perversion?" she chuckles. "Neither are, just wanted to make sure."

More flushing. "Good then," she says firmly, then hesitates. "I... we- Wesley and I waited, but because of... only due to regs." The hand on Marian's shoulder tightens a little. "We're not... you're not in my chain of command, nor under my supervision anymore," she says slowly. "If... do you want..."

"I do. But we can take things slow." She smiles. "I get enough sex, really I do. It won't hurt me one bit to wait." She pauses, then says, "You said I owed you three talks. Did I accidentally hit the third, or do you still have a question?"

"What we are, what about Merrill and [stabbed in the gut with a sword]," she ticks off. Evidently she speaks dwarven rather well. Hells, her accent is better than Hawke's. "That was everything. Well. It was. What are we to each other? I mean, what should I call you?"

Marian groans. "I swear, membership in the Clan really begins when you start saying [stabbed in the gut with a sword], sex or no sex. Merrill and Zevran don't even speak Dwarven and they still know it." Still, she smiles a bit. "Whatever amata means, that sounds nice."

Aveline looks confused at the Clan gripe, but looks shocked at Marian's actual answer. "What? I- I didn't realize you spoke- where did you hear someone use that?" she asks, off balance.

Her smile vanishes. "What? Aveline, you've been calling me it all afternoon. If it's something offensive, I didn't mean..."

"I- I was...?" She asks, blushing furiously. "...it's Celestial. It... it's... outsider languages have too much nuance and... _weight_ to really translate but... Beloved. It means beloved."

Marian's smile blooms again, a real, shy smile this time. "Oh. Then, yes. That's a good one."

She smiles a little, then bites her lip. "It's... it means... it means that, but... also.. the.. .tense. It's... even nouns can have a tense to them, sometimes, if you emphasis it a certain- amata implies... eternal. Timelessness. Not just forever, but always was. It... might- some might say, ummm, 'wife' could be a valid translation. Most outsiders don't have legal marriages so it's... vague on that sort of thing." She coughs. "It's... probably too much for... right now. Should- maybe we should- girlfriend or... " She exhales sharply. "Stupid mouth."

Marian takes her hand, pressing it to her lips. "Amata. I like it." she says, quietly.

Aveline's breath hitches at the kiss, her eyes darkening slightly. "Do... can you stay a while? I..." Her other hand, the one still on Marian's shoulder, slowly begins to softly rub its thumb against her collarbone. "I was just... going to read, after my bath, but... I'd like to... I'd like if you stayed, amata," she whispers.

"I can stay as long as you like," purrs Marian, her eyelids lowering.

~*~

"You speak Celestial, right Wynne? Can you help me translate... I don't know. Guardian? Protector? Something along those lines?"

"I do, yes," she says, looking up from her book. "But Celestial is a very tricky and complex language. It would be easier if you described the concept you want to express."

"Ah. I want a positive term, an endearment term. Ah, someone who is... steadfast and reliable and dependable and protective?"

Wynne looks amused for a second, then asks delicately, "is the bond... paternal or... romantic?"

"Romantic," she confirms, with a nod.

"I think... caomilis would suit your guardswoman well," she offers after a moment. "It's... a gentle guardian, one that stands vigil for love, not obligation. Or perhaps maoroi- heart's protector. More emphasis on safeguarding emotions rather than the physical as with caolmils. Hmmm. Caisra. ah, protector of a love, for someone devoted to safeguarding a loved one."

She nods, slowly. "Caomilis. Maoroi. Caisra." She repeats. "I'll talk to her. Thanks, Wynne."

"Of course, egharata, it was my pleasure," Wynne replies easily, looking back at her book. Aedhoia soon, she adds to herself, if the term doesn't apply already. It will be... interesting to see how the lot of them decide to settle things. Hopefully in time for me to spoil a grandchild or two for a little while...

~*~

Days turn into weeks, and Marian is... happy.

Her recovery progresses, slower than she'd like, but rapidly enough to make Wynne happy. Her relationship with Aveline progresses, slow enough for both of them to enjoy it. Slowly, Merrill begins to feel secure that Hawke isn't leaving her anytime soon. Slowly, Hawke begins to dig into what it really means to be polygamous, into her newfound friendship with Seli.

And things are just... nice.

It's nice playing checkers or scrabble with Merrill. It's nice getting back to work in Varric's little office, making jokes and enjoying time with him. It's nice learning magic from Wynne, even though it's still hard to believe she can do these things. It's nice learning staff combat from Zevran.

She tries to bring up the topic of Zevran's breakdown with him, but he brushes her off, disarmingly cheerful. So she lets him be. She keeps an eye out, but she doesn't find any other signs of impending mental breakdown. It's just... Zevran.

She starts taking little jobs here and there, as she starts recovering. Aside from glancing at a calendar and making a strange, sad face every now and again, things seem to be getting back to normal...

Zevran being the one whose movements are least likely to be noticed by Hawke, it's Zevran who finds himself combing merchant stalls for a gift the group can present to Hawke -- something to take her mind off the date on the calendar, but that doesn't come across as somehow disrespectful or over the top. As he browses -- a ribbon for her hair? A book maybe? -- he overhears, among the hubbub of the marketplace, words that stand out:

"You don't pay your debts soon, girl, I'll see you in chains."

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he spies an unexpectedly familiar face being yanked by her scarf toward a leering, brutish man.

A scant heartbeats latter and Zevran has draped his arms around both figures. "Isabela! It's been far too long, my saucy wench! And who is your delightfully polite and respectful friend here?" he asks smoothly, a sharp pointed something pricking the man just under his armpit where a long enough object would have a clean path to one's heart.

The thug scowls at Zevran, but lets Bela's scarf go as she grins at the half-drow coyly. "I was just telling this old friend of mine how soon I'd have Castillon's money." Knowing Isabela, the answer is 'never'.

"Ah, well there we go then. All's well, no? Nothing more to do here, my kind but evidently rather unsanitary friend?" he asks brightly, offering a wink to... probably Isabela. Probably.

He jabs a finger toward Isabela. "Soon," he says, before he tries to pull away from both her and Zevran.

Zevran smiles as he allows the man to walk away- sans his coin purse. Consider it payment for making it necessary to have his clothes professionally cleaned. "Well, that was lovely. Always a joy to me new people and... touch their hearts, no?" He turns to the ex-pirate with a bright smile. "And how have you been, 'bela? It has been weeks since last my eyes were blessed by your ample charm and even more ample breasts."

Isabela's smile fades now that the man is gone. "Busy," she says, sounding casual. "Lots of business, not a lot of time. How's tricks?"

"Delightful and warm," he replies easily. "Slightly hairier than normal, but strangely enjoyable nevertheless," he adds with an amused smirk. "But I am free for a bit, perhaps I could assist? The more the merrier- and the less worrying about recovery times and such."

She chuckles. "I'm only in town until tomorrow." She means to leave it there, really she does, but just as she's starting to break eye contact, some traitorous bone in her body forces out, "But you can buy a soon-to-be-captain a drink if you like."

"A drink? For a soon-to-be-captain? My dear, I think that warrants at least dinner and oral," he scolds, her, resting a hand on her arm. "Do you long for the Gilder or shall we find somewhere new, perhaps a place that does not add water to their ale?"

She laughs, but it sounds a bit forced to Zevran's ears. "New. I crave novelty."

"Of course, of course. After so long away, I suspect you've completely forgotten about the drab and doldrums of Nyra," he says agreeably. "There's a lovely place not far from here that fries a very nice onion, if that tempts you?"

"Forgotten entirely," she agrees, taking his arm. Wait is there more to that then she's letting on? Or did she miss his passive-agressive remark? "Lead on!"

~*~

A short walk later and the pair are dining on fried veggies battered in breadcrumbs and beer. Its sounds bizarre and disgusting, but it's quite the rage this month, Zevran explains. He'd tried it last week and rather enjoyed. Merrill- you might remember her, sweet girl, summons lighting and strange non-sequiturs with equal ease?- wasn't very impressed, too greasy for her, but Hawke- passionate young lady with a knack for ice spells and helping strangers- enjoyed it very much well. Ramble over, he then sips his ale.

Isabela's coy, seductive smile stays in place, right up until he says Hawke. Her face freezes, as if she's been caught in a compromising position. Then she forces herself to laugh, changing the subject. "So, ah, I've decided to buy another ship at last." Her voice is strained, the skin around her eyes tight.

"Not many oceans around here," he comments. "Unless you've done much better than you imply, and plan to purchase- or acquire- one of those flying ships. In which case, best luck, I'll pray at your grave, provided the crater isn't too deep."

"I was in Glaley when I made up my mind. It's time to hit the seas again. I've been landlocked far too long. So, I'm just here long enough to collect some coin and head back to make my purchase."

"Drop in on Hawke's brother while you were there?" he asks innocently.

She flinches -- just a little. "I had no idea Carver was in town. Does he sail, do you think?"

"I rather suspect not- from what Hawke says, he's far too up his own ass to have much in the way of sea legs," he replies easily. "Shame that, with the size of his ego, you wouldn't need an anchor."

"Says?" Of the whole bit, that's the word she fixates on? Her eyes bore into him, serious for the first time.

Zevran's easy expression fades a little. "Isabela, do you think I commonly dine with corpses? Or the undead, surprisingly virile vampires aside? I can assure you, as of last night, Hawke is very much alive and... lively." A pause. "You did not know." Isabela closes her eyes, briefly, her shoulders sagging. She doesn't answer with words, but the answer's clear in her posture. "...she has asked about you, if I had word of you. Not... often, but regularly," he says gently.

Isabela forces a little laugh. "I have a ribbon of hers she liked as a bookmark. I'll send it with you when we part."

"You could give it to her," he points out, a hint of challenge in his voice. "I was planning on taking Merrill to an art museum- they've a new kender artist, very... abstract- so Hawke does not have plans tonight."

"I could. So. I'm thinking I can scrounge up enough for the downpayment on a sweet little clipper," she begins.

"It's good alliteration," Zevran agrees.

"Is it?"

"Yes, clipper and coward both begin with 'c'," he explains. "More fried onion?"

She draws herself up a little. "I'm no coward. I'm merely... discretionary."

"As you like," he says simply, popping an onion petal. He chews and swallows without ever breaking eye contact.

_When they go high..._ Isabela takes a bit of onion, and, without breaking eye contact, licks the outside with an impressive flourish of the tongue.

Zevran hums approving, then, "so you're the one that taught Hawke that one? My thanks."

"So fixated. Someone has a crush."

"Not at all," he says easily. "I love them." And pops another petal into his mouth.

"Merrill too?" Isabela raises an eyebrow. "I didn't think you were the loving type." _Of course he means blowjobs, but that should rattle him._

"I am not," he replies. "I'm a slave, an assassin, a child killer, and a monster. And that's before you touch on the tainted blood in my veins. I should have nothing to do with love. But that is the wonder that is mon dieu a donné un faucon and notre fleur aimante." His expression... despite what he'd named himself, he looks... at peace. Content.

Isabela has no words, watching Zevran's face for any sign he's bullshitting. _What happened while I was gone?_ Finally, disgusted with herself, she turns away. _Even Zevran. I guess I really am an aberration._ "Do you think I can afford a three-master?"

"She would love you if you let her," he comments, ignoring her attempts to flee. "I do not think she is capable of turning someone away, not if they wished for her." It's the only thing that can explain how she, how they, can love him.

"She said this to you?" she snaps, grabbing for another piece of onion.

"I have seen her buy a scarf that clearly does not suit her twice this week alone. She plays it off, claiming she's merely trying out new looks, yet she never wears them. And she always look, always, when we eat at the Gilder once a week," he says idly, watching Isabela closely. "She is not so very hard to read, for those she trusts. Her walls crumble and her body betrays her emotions like a heirless noble's step-brother."

Isabela puts the onion in her mouth -- it's more an excuse not to say anything than food right now. Finally, casually, she asks, "She still getting married?"

"Perhaps eventually to Merrill, but not at the moment. She's broken things off with Anders- he's still in Summerhill, evidently still crazy but no longer the dangerous sort." He shrugs- if he is not with Hawke anymore, then he honestly doesn't care. "But even if she does marry Merrill- or perhaps Aveline- yes, that Aveline- it wouldn't matter. She's made it clear to all involved that she will not choose between us, even if she marries one or more of them, I shall always be loved and welcome in her bed. Or table, couch, and alas just the once, church pew."

Isabela is quiet for a little while, thinking things over. When she finally speaks up, she asks, "So, Aveline? The guard captain? How's that work? I thought she'd given up sex for Vangal."

~*~

After the meal, Isabela suggests walking up to Meadows together -- "since we're going the same place and all." They almost get to Wynne's house before the front door bangs open and a suspiciously large puppy comes bounding toward the pair of them. Isabela is about to draw her knife when she looks up and spies Marian, hands over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears, making no effort to control her dog.

"...Hi." says Isabela, before the puppy jumps up and pushes her back about a foot with its exuberant licking.

Zevran kneels to drag the puppy away a bit- "its rude to sniff, much less lick that without asking, young pup"- so he can watch this play out a little.

Marian just keeps staring, the tears starting to fall.

Isabela straightens, tucking away her knives. "It's ah. Good to see you survived. Right, I'll just--"

"Don't go!" She sounds almost desperate, and Isabela flinches. Marian shakes her head, wiping at her eyes. "I mean... I wanted to hear about your adventures. I, ah, I found a scarf you might like the other day, you know, if you're interested."

Coughing softly, which sounds strangely 'told you so' in elven, Zevran scoops up the puppy- merciful Astea why do humans even want pets this large- so he can smirk at the pair.

Isabela nods. "I could use a good scarf. I'm planning to take to sea after this."

"O-oh, that's... fun." Marian tucks some hair behind her ear, wetting her lips. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. I'm just here for a couple days."

"I.. I see."

"Oh, and this little one is Beka-she's Aveline's but ends up here on days she works, Wynne's companion, her sister Silence, is around here somewhere I'm sure, " Zevran says brightly, moving closer so Beka can sniff at Isabela.

The mabari sneezes softly, then growls a little. Not really threateningly, just... an alert. "Aveline is teaching her to find criminals and it seems she's doing well in her studies," he adds with a smirk.

Isabela laughs. "Bite me," she teases.

Marian gives her a wicked grin. "It's rude to do that in public, but maybe inside?"

Isabela smirks, reaching for Marian's arm. "Inside we go, then."

As the two saunter into the house, Marian calls out in Elven, "Guess who's back?"

"Is it Zevran? Because that would be good because we're going out to the museum to see the new exhibit on the color of emotions in dreams and I didn't even know he left but if he's back then maybe that's okay because it didn't matter but it's not good because I'm not ready to leave yet and I hate making him wait because I like being there when he's here and not in here with he's here and if he's here then did I loose track of time again or is he early oh is something wrong I'll be right there!"

The voice had been getting louder since the last third of all that, ending with Merrill rushing into the living wearing only some knee-high socks and a hair ribbon. "Oh. Hello Isabela. Oh! Isabela is back! Welcome back!"

"Perhaps we should just stay in?" Zevran muses softly to himself, eyeing his love with interest.

Isabela looks Merrill up and down. "I suspect what you're wearing now is perfect."

Marian drops Isabela's arm like it's hot, stepping away toward the kitchen. "I'll put on a pot," she says, too sunnily.

Merrill blinks a few times. "Tea sounds nice?" she agrees hesitantly, then glances at Isabela. "It's nice to see you again," she says politely, seemingly not caring she's naked and being leered at both the two of them.

"Quite," flirts Isabela. "I wouldn't mind seeing more of you."

_Tea definitely tea is required in this situation_ Marian practically flees to the kitchen.

Merrill blinks again, then looks down at herself. "I suppose I could take off my socks... or turn around?" she offers. Zevran snickers a little, amused as ever at how delightfully oblivious Merrill can be at times. To Merrill, however, she's not being strange- she only has sex with Isabela with Marian, who isn't here or interested it seems, so nothing about this is sexual. Simple as that.

"You are indeed a delight to the eye, my fleur innocente, but I think we'd have trouble making it the whole way to the museum unless you dress. As god as it may be to see Aveline, I think she would be upset if you were arrested for public nudity again," Zevran says gently.

"Or, to make things interesting, I could _un_ dress," says Isabela, without so much as a glance at the kitchen where Marian's hiding. "We'd be a matched set, then."

"No thank you," Merrill says before turning around to head back to her room. "You should talk to Hawke, she missed you," she adds as she leaves.

Isabela sighs dramatically. "Mine is a woeful lot in life," she playfully bemoans.

Zevran smacks her ass rather smartly. "There. Now go talk to Hawke."

Isabela laughs. "I'm sure she'll be out in a moment."

"Alliteration," he says, careful to draw the word out into a dare.

"Cock," she says, rolling her eyes as she moves toward the kitchen.

And stops in the doorway. Silently, she takes a couple steps back, turning to smile at Zevran. "Oh, by the way, what exhibit is it you're going to see?"

"Canvasses covered by kooky kender," he replies, "Hawke, Isabela had something she wanted to talk to you about, you don't mind her in the kitchen, right?" he calls out.

There's a brief pause, during which Isabela mouths 'traitor', before Marian replies: "Of course."

Isabela glares daggers at Zevran before steeling herself and walking in. "So, I've decided to become a pirate..."

Smiling innocently, Zevran waits a moment, then drifts closer to the door to the kitchen.

Isabela prattles on about ships and plans, while Marian sets out making a pot of tea. She's being oddly quiet -- she doesn't ask any questions, just makes small noises of agreement as she works.

_Oh for the love of whatever deity got off their divine asses and sent him Hawke..._ Slipping into the room, he slides up to Hawke and pulls her into a hug. "I dislike having to speak so plainly but drawing this out is hurting her. So, I shall. Isabela, why did you run?"

Hawke starts to pull away. "I'm fine," she argues.

"If you were Merrill, would Hawke allow such a claim to stand?" he asks her gently.

Hawke turns her head, resting her gaze safely on the teapot, and says nothing.

Isabela sighs. "I didn't think she-- I didn't think you were going to wake up," she says, quietly. "So I left. There was nothing for me here." Strangely, Zevran actually doesn't find himself offended by this. But... he is a little hurt. Peculiar.

Rubbing Hawke's back slowly, he asks, "And now she has woken. Three days after you left, by the way, but that is too often how life goes. What now? Will you run again?"

"I don't know. Seems like you didn't miss me much." says Isabela, trying to sound casual.

"Please," says Marian, quietly. "If you want to go, go, but if it's me.. if I made you feel that way, then please. Stay."

Isabela coughs, turning away to hide her emotion. "When you put it that way..."

"She often does _put it that way_ ," Zevran says fondly, pressing a kiss to Hawke's neck as he holds her. "Speaks with her heart to anyone that's... no, even to some that have tried to kill her. Really, she takes so much looking after," he says, teasing thick in his voice,

"Stop, she'll think you're joking," says Marian, forcing a smile onto her face as she nestles against his chest.

"You'd be worth a dozen times the work," he says softly in Elven, one hand soothingly rubbing her back, the other gently cupping her ass.

~*~

The next morning, Isabela wanders out from the "spare" bedroom with nothing but a towel on, hips swaying exaggeratedly. She was expecting perhaps Merrill sitting at the breakfast table -- but instead, she finds herself flashing a self-satisfied grin to Wynne. The sixty-plus woman with snow white hair glances up at her with a polite smile. "Good morning.. Isabela, wasn't it?" she asks politely. "The tea is fresh and still hot, and there's some nut bread cooling on the counter if you'd like a slice."

"Don't mind if I do," the sea wench says, cutting the hip sway as she heads for the kitchen. _At least there's nut bread. Isabela, what are you doing?_

"I hope you slept well?" Wynne asks as Isabela makes herself some bread and tea. "Oh, there's honey and some jams in the cabinet above you. To the left, dear."

"Thanks, luv." Isabela puts together a spread and heads for the table. _Staying the night through's one thing, but getting chummy with the parents -- how domestic,_ she chides herself.

"Mmhhmm," Wynne says absently, her attention returning to her book. A minute or so later, "should I see about getting another set of towels and house robes or are you leaving town again?"

"Haven't decided yet," she replies casually, pulling apart some of the nut bread with her fingers.

"Mmmmh." She turns the page. "And what part does my daughter-electi play in that decision?" The term would normally be used for the wife of a son, though it could be stretched to describe other on-paper kinships.

"Congratulations, I hadn't heard the news." Isabela pops some nut bread into her mouth.

Wynne smiles, finally looking upwards. "Oh, it's not official yet. And Merrill has no issue with sharing. Hawke has heart enough for you as well. I'm very proud of them both, how they've worked things out for not just themselves, but the rest of their family." She studies Isabela carefully, her expression... firm but kind. "The question, I suppose, is where you wish to fall in that... array."

"You know me. I don't really do relationships." _I've had my fill of playing pretty housewife. Isabela, you're in too deep: time to go._

"Neither does Zevran, but they make it work," Wynne replies with a slight frown. It does bother her a little, how... widespread his 'affections' reign but it's not her life or her bed. "Somehow."

"I saw something of that. Not my style."

"And Merrill's style is not Zevran's and neither are anything really alike to Aveline. Again, what does that matter?" Wynne shrugs a little. "I will be honest, I don't know you well enough to really have much investment in your inclusion, nor your disclusion. I simply wish for you to not string Hawke along, or to raise her hopes without reason. If you are honestly unsure, then that's understand. Think things through, talk things over with people."

"I'm stringing _her_ along? I'm not the one who ran off, got engaged, and died, all without so much as a by-your-leave." Abruptly, Isabela gets up, taking her plate with her toward the kitchen counter. _I'm not so hungry after all._

"Then tell _her_ that," Wynne stresses. "She's fully aware the engagement was a mistake, and the dying wasn't planned by any means. She was... desperate and in great pain. You are far from the only one to have... taken her actions amiss, I assure you."

"Maybe we're just not compatible." Isabela puts the plate on the counter, turns, walks three steps, and stops. "...Good morning," she says, after a minute.

"Don't," says Marian, from the doorway. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Marian, come and have some nut bread," Wynne _suggests._

Isabela steps aside, but Marian doesn't move for a second. Finally, she says, "I didn't meant to hurt you, B-- Isabela. I'm sorry. I won't hold you back. I-- I hope your ship is all you dreamed."

She turns away, but now it's Isabela's turn to say, "Wait." She sighs, resigned. "I didn't... Wynne's right. I should have just talked to you."

"I understand why you didn't."

"Do you? Because I'm not sure I do." The would-be pirate runs a hand through her hair. "You make me crazy, Hawke. I don't know myself around you."

Wondering idly if Isabela would prefer creamy tan robes or perhaps a brighter color... a golden orange mayhap, Wynne rises quietly to refresh her tea. And prepare Marian a plate, girl never eats enough.

"I'm sorry," whispers Marian.

Isabela shakes her head. "Look. When I-- I promised myself three things: I'd never marry, I'd live my life to the fullest, and I wouldn't become dependent on anyone."

"I understand," whispers Marian in that same, sad tone.

"No, you don't. Because, damn me to hell, you make me wonder about all three." She sighs, running her hand through her hair. "Just-- don't tell Zevran any of this, alright? He'd be intolerably smug."

There's a weird pause. "...Wait, you're... staying?"

"Not forever, you understand."

"I-- of course."

"Just until I have enough saved up to get a really good ship."

"Of course."

"They're expensive. I was going to get a second-rate clunker and work her over, but you had a point last night about being sure I can really trust it not to leak."

"Right."

Wynne pauses next to Marian to press a plate into her hands. "Just this once, you can eat in the guest room," she says with a faint smile and a nod for Isabela. Marian blushes, mouthing 'thanks' as she and Isabela make their way back into their room.

A moment later and Zevran strolls into the kitchen, whistling softly, wearing only his pants. In his own way, he considers him walking around without a shirt to be sort of... rent. Behind him, Merill scampers after, emitting a high-pitched and disturbingly constant 'eeeeee' noise. Wynne sighs a little. _Children, all of them, even the one with the well toned abs and taunt little tush._

"Have some nut bread, but you'll need to make more tea if you want some. I'm heading out for the morning."

~*~

Marian and Isabela spend a lot of the day in bed, getting re-acquainted; however, even Marian's appetite eventually is sated. When they wander out that afternoon, they're informed that Zevran and Merrill are over at Varric's and maybe they should catch up for a spot of tea? Marian's glow fades a little, but she agrees, and they walk that-a-way.

Which would be great if it wasn't for a certain other Hawke walking that-a-way himself. "Hello, stranger," purrs Isabela, earning herself a swat on the arm from Marian.

"You can't be serious." groans the elder Hawke.

"I'm not," laughs the undine. "I promise, I'm done."

Carver wrinkles his nose, as the full horror comes crashing down around his shoulders. "Oh, ew! Marian!"

Aveline, having been running a touch late, dithers a moment but decides to just... wing it. Ug. "Hawke!" she calls out as she approaches the three humanoids. "I was just coming over to visit... ah," she trails off, realizing she has no idea who the man is or... well, the woman seems familiar from somewhere but... Two of them turn to face her when she calls out -- the one she was expecting, and this guy who looks a lot like her.

"Aveline," says Marian, happily. "Carver was just leaving."

Carver. "Carver," Aveline says flatly, eyes hard and intent as she turns to study him, memorizing his features. "Your blade peacebonded?" she asks coldly, shifting a little so her guard sash is prominent.

He blanches. "Of course it is. I follow the laws." He shifts his glance sideways to his older sister, as if accusing her with his eyes.

"Good. Make sure it stays that way," she replies, voice even colder. "You're dismissed."

Isabela sniggers. _He was a good lay, but he's clearly an asshole._

Marian sighs. "Leave him be, Aveline, it's his birthday."

Carver turns back to Marian. "I assumed you'd forgotten."

"I never forget." The half-elf's tone is flat.

Aveline blinks once- of course, they were twins. She takes a second to study herself, determine what would be the right path, now and later. And decides. Without comment, she moves around to slip an arm around Hawke's- her Hawke- shoulders, above Isabela's arm. "We'd almost hoped you might, at least in part," she says softly. "Everyone is at Varric's. Zevran and Merrill cooked and we all have offerings ready."

Marian looks at Aveline, her expression lightening. "Offerings? Is this a Nyran custom or something?"

"For Bethany," she says softly. "For Mileen to pass on to her. Little tokens, to show she's not forgotten."

Marian tears up, resting her head against Aveline's shoulder. "Oh," she says, quietly.

Carver takes a step back, his eyes shadowed with pain and guilt. "And here I thought you were eager to forget you ever were a Hawke."

"No, she's never forgotten, no matter how much you've pushed her away," Aveline snaps. "She's simply decided to make being a Hawke something to be proud of instead of-- " She cuts herself off. "Do you have a reason for being here other than... hurting her?"

"I guess not," he says, his tone dark as he turns away.

Marian sighs. "Give us a minute?" she asks, pulling free from Isabela and Aveline. "Carver, wait."

"Of course Hawke. Take the time you need, I'll be here," she says softly, before stepping back. As Hawke walks away, she glances sidelong at Isabela. "...the waitress at the Gilder. The one who told me Hawke was ill," she realizes.

"The guardswoman asking about Hawke?" Isabela seems surprised.

"Capt- sorry, Aveline Vallen," she says, offering her hand. "I gather you're... one of Hawke's... well, one of Hawke's?" she asks politely, if a touch awkwardly.

"They call me Isabala," she says as she takes the hand. "Charmed."

Hawke and Hawke move a little way down the street and speak in low, soft voices. Carver's face contorts at one point, but he doesn't start yelling or reach for a weapon.

"Thank you and the same," Aveline replies automatically, most of her attention on Hawke and her brother. "How... how has she been? This morning, I mean."

"Distracted." Isabela licks her lips.

Marian pulls Carver into a hug.

Aveline blinks, glancing at Isabela. It takes a second, but then, "...Vangal preserve me, you're another Zevran, aren't you?"

"Heavens, no! I'm much prettier." She winks.

Aveline closes her eyes for a moment. And prays. "I never got a chance to thank you, for letting me know about... when she was hurt," she says after a moment. "So thank you."

"You're a strange one," says Isabela, as Hawke and Carver make their way back. Marian's arm is around Carver's shoulders as they approach.

"So Carver's going to party with us," says Marian, daring either of them to say anything about it.

Aveline frowns a little, eyes drifting to Carver's blade, but she nods. "Today of all days," she agrees softly. A pause. "I'll go ahead and... let people know to make sure there's an extra place." And so she doesn't have to arrest Varric for shooting someone.

Carver doesn't say much as they trail behind Aveline, despite his sister's arm around him. Marian goes in first, just in case Varric's still in a shooting mood, with Isabela taking up the rear, in case Carver tries to flee. The first thing they see is a shirtless Zevran, coincidently framed in the sunlight pouring in from a nearby window. He has a wet rag and is wiping off his lean, muscled stomach, which gleams slightly as the light reflects off the water. Hearing them come in, he offers a slow smile. "Why hello," he purrs. "Such visions of loveliness- it's been far too long, dear Carver." Further in, they can hear Merrill babbling brightly from the kitchen, along with an occasional 'I'm listening' noise from Varric.

Carver blanches. "Him?" he sputters.

A dark look crosses Marian's face; then she moves to Zevran, grabbing for his chin to pull him into a deep kiss.

Zevran is, well, Zevran. So when she pulls him down for a deep kiss, he not only allows it but eagerly assists. He flicks the towel aside so he can use both hands. One of them curls around her back, his hand in the small of her back with only his bottom two fingers touching the swell of her ass, pulling her upwards to his lips while the other combs through her hair. He shifts slightly, so one of his legs slips between her own, his thigh now pressing against her just so. And he groans, the sound of a man tasting fresh water after days in the desert, of a man seeing light after an endless night. Of a man reaching heaven after lifetimes in hell.

Carver turns away, mumbling something about "going to be sick". Marian, her point lost in the enthusiastic response, wraps her arms around Zevran. One hand slides to the back of his neck, her fingers tracing along his hairline, while the other snakes around his waist, stabilizing herself. Isabela skims the room, her gaze landing on Aveline. She wiggles her eyebrows, suggestively.

Aveline doesn't notice at first, too caught up in trying to stare at Hawke without, well, staring at Zevran. During one of attempts to not look, she finally catches Isabela's increasingly blatant come-ons and double-takes. Throwing her a 'not on your life' look, she turns in a sharp movement right out of a marching textbook, and, yeah okay, flees to the kitchen.

Zevran's supporting hand, less needed now that Marian is holding herself up as well, drifts lower to firmly cup her right cheek, kneading it slowly. His tongues dances around hers as he begins to rock his thigh slightly, the movements short but rapid against her. Thankfully for Carver's sanity and Varric's carpet, Wynne passes by Aveline around then. She's holding a shirt, and her expression is one that has been worn by countless mothers, grandmothers and teaches world over. "Your shirt is clean, Zevran, so you can stop trying to cover yourself up with Hawke," she says, voice dry as dust.

Marian pulls back as she hears Wynne, blushing faintly. "Alright," she gasps. "You win. Bedroom."

Zevran purrs softly, pressing a kiss to Marian's jawline, then her temple. "I must remember to flirt with men more often, mon faucon attrayant," he remarks between kisses, voice husky. "I rather like the results." It's also very clear that he's, ah, very much in agreement about 'bedroom' right now.

Carver stares firmly out the window, giving a discreet couple of coughs. Marian turns slightly, spies her brother, and turns beet red. She doesn't address him, though.

"Behave," Wynne scolds the pair, tossing Zevran's shirt at him before turning to the other male in the room. "You must be Carver. It's nice to meet you," she says politely, bowing slightly in the Nyrian style- too many for the more discrete spells are touch only, so shaking hands is riskier and only done as a show of power (that they can resist a spell), trust (that they believe a spell won't come) or newcomers (who lack the bone-deep awareness of magic natives have).

Carver starts to offer a hand as he turns, but rapidly switches into a clunky, off-balance bow. "Ah, yes, and you are?"

"I am Wynne Langnne, formerly of the Aequitarians College, and currently your sister's teacher," she says with at trace of fondness in her voice. "Dinner won't be for a bit, especially as I suspect one of our cooks has lost interest in his tasks, but we have bread and cheese for toasting, wine and tea if you'd like something to tide you over."

Carver coughs, for real this time. "You're Wynne. The magic teacher." he repeats, incredulously.

"I am," she says serenely. "Not what you were expecting?" the grandmotherly woman asks with a slight smile.

"It's a shame I can't stay for dinner," he starts to explain, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks rather like Marian when he tries to politely dissemble...

"It is," she replies easily, then glances towards Marian. "Would you like to... make the offerings now then, before your brother has to leave? It's traditional to do so during sunset but not required by any means."

Marian appears to be making out with Zevran again, though she comes up for air just in time to hear the tail end of Wynne's question. "Hmm? Now? Ah, give us half an hour?"

"Hawke, you have a guest," Wynne says reprovingly.

Zevran pouts a little before whispering in her ear in Auran, "[He can join us or wait as far as I am concerned, my love.]"

Marian starts to respond, but closes her eyes instead, taking a deep, sensuous breath. "[Stop that]," she scolds in the sharpest tongue she has at hand: Dwarven. Carver, catching some of this out of the corner of his eye, blanches and turns back to the window.

"That means lower, no?" Zevran asks softly in Elven, nibbling on her neck gently.

Wynne sighs a little. "Why don't you come and have a seat with the adults in the kitchen?" she offers Carver.

"Fine, yes, sure, by all means," he stammers out. "Which way?"

Wynne offers a smile, and gestures him to follow. As they depart, Zevran decides to do a good deed. Grabbing Marian around the waist, he tosses her over his shoulder. He sways a little- he's no bruiser and Marian is a full grown woman- but it's nothing he's not done before. "Shall we then, my feisty Hawk?" he asks, smacking her pert little rear in emphasis. And then pauses. "Oh, care to join us, ma'bela?"

"Of course," says Isabela, trailing after Zevran. _Any chance to taste **those** hands._

~*~

In the kitchen, Merrill is happily making a salad while Varric grills some beef and chicken. Well, chars some meat. Aveline is arguing with him, trying to convince him to get out of the way before all of the meat is ruined. Taking a seat with a slight groan, Wynne glances around with content eyes.

"Oh hello Carver, it's nice to see you again," Merrill says brightly as she waves a carrot at him.

_Is it?_ Carver wonders. _This whole house is full of mages. What does my sister see in these people?_ "Likewise," he mumbles, stiffly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. _At least I don't have to watch... **that** anymore._

"Didn't Hawke and Isabela come with you? Did they get lost? Oh, would you like a snack?" the elf continues. "We have bread and cheese and some fruit and you could have a carrot or some tomatoes if you want one, we have extra of those."

Carver blinks at Merrill. "...right. Marian's... indisposed, at the moment."

"Oh, are they having sex again?" she asks curiously, causing Varric to flinch, which in turn allows Aveline to shoulder him aside finally. "I should bring them in a pitcher of juice when I'm done with the salad..."

Varric, now off grill duty, coughs a little. "So about anything other than that, how's that going? Carver, we don't talk much, surely you have a change of topic that's new?"

"My uncle's gone to prison," he offers, with a shrug.

"An old topic, but one I'll not grow bored with," Varric says with a smile. He grabs a hunk of cheddar and snags a seat between Wynne and Carver. "You ever visit?"

"Every time I get back in town," he says, wearily. "Someone has to."

"Your mother doesn't?" Varric asks, a bit surprised. He keeps tabs on them for Hawke's sake, but not all that close.

"Mother? Of course not. She's--" He bites his tongue, clearly changing his phrasing before it comes out his mouth. "She's not well."

"Uh-huh," Varric says skeptically. He starts to say something but pauses. Instead, he takes a bite of cheese and chews thoughtfully.

"It's good that you visit," Aveline comments. "Not many prisoners get regular visitors."

He winces. "I'm hardly regular. It's not as if I live here most of the year, sitting around eating cheese and screwing elves."

"Isabela's an undine actually," Merrill corrects. "And Aveline is human." The guard coughs a little, giving Merrill a dirty look that she doesn't even notice.

Varric studies Carver thoughtfully. "You really can't _not_ , can you?"

Carver gapes, then groans. "I should have figured," he mutters to Merrill. "It's always about sex and abandonment with Marian. I give up."

Shoulders hunched a little, Aveline mutters, "we're not... we still haven''t..."

"Yeah, she does have more than a few abandonment issues, what with how you and your mother treat her," Varric says with a purposely casual tone.

"How _we_ treat her?" He snaps. "She's the one disrespecting-- no. I'm not letting you bait me."

"You hate her," Merrill says simply. "Of course she left. Would you stay with people that hate you and resent your being alive?"

"I don't hate her! She's my sister!" He pushes away from the wall, hands balling into fists, but his voice cracks as he continues: "The only sister I have, now."

Merrill blinks at him. "You hate what she is," she explains patiently. "You hate she has magic, that she likes having magic. That she loves people with magic. You can't not hate her, when you hate so much of what she is."

"Is that all there is to her? Magic? Then I have no sister after all." Carver turns, intending to walk away, but not before he mutters, "Magic took both my sisters from me."

"Marian's not gone," she corrects him. "You're the one that's leaving."

"She did invite you," Aveline says, resting a hand on the elf's shoulder to quiet her. "She's trying to reach out, she's just... scared, not knowing if you'll take it."

"[Or stab it]," Varric mutters in Dwarven.

"Please stay. For Bethany, if not for... either of you," Aveline finishes.

"Bethany wouldn't stand for this. Bethany deserved better than this." He turns back, trying to glower with hatred, though the tears welling in his eyes soften the sting considerably. "If Bethany were alive, she wouldn't be abandoning her own blood for a bunch of mages. She understood the meaning of family."

Varric frowns. "You do realize that only Moonbeam and Wynne are mages, right? Two out of six?"

"Varric, enough," Aveline says firmly. "Marian does more to look out for you and your mother than you see to realize. She still sends money every month. She's the reason why your uncle was killed in jail when he crossed that crime lord. She's paid off Gamlen's debts, or enough of them to make sure your don't lose the house. And who do you think arranged for the girl that looks after your mother? Or the mabari pup that will guard the house when he grows?"

"That damn dog really was her doing?" Despite the expletive, he does seem a little less tense, his voice lowering in volume a tad. "Stupid pup can't tell a rat apart from my shoes."

Wynne sniffs a little. "Yes, they do that don't they Merrill?" she says pointedly, giving the elf a look.

Said shaman wilts a little. "He really likes to play fetch and... sorry, maman," she mumbles.

Aveline smiles. "My Beka doesn't seem to have any issues like that," she says just a little smugly.

Varric snorts. "Of course not, how could your dog ever break a law? Probably afraid you'll arrest her," he teases, earning a giggle from Merrill. Oh, she can just picture Aveline reading Beka a list of charges while pinning the mabari to the ground: destruction of city property, pooping on the carpet and extreme fuzzy adorableness.

Carver looks between them as they talk, his face... conflicted. It's as though he's only just realized that mages can love dogs, or perhaps that the kind of person his sister associates with can. "Hunter seems bound and determined to shred my left boot. But only the left one."

"Huh. That's very strange. Maybe she's trying to make sure you only wear the _right_ one," Merrill suggests, her giggles increasing to the point where she's barely able to get out the last word.

"That was terrible, Moonbeam," Varric says with a groan. "I don't think my sole will ever heel from that one," he adds. She sinks below the counter, her giggles now mixed with hiccups as she loses it.

Aveline sighs. "Would you mind finishing the salad, Carver?" she asks. "I hate to ask a guest but... I seem to have run out of help."

Carver begrudgingly accepts; by the time he's done, Marian's sliding back into the room, fixing her hair. "Sorry," she chirps. "Duty called."

"Is that what he calls it," he mutters into the salad bowl.

"Oh no, he usually calls-" Merrill crosses her eyes to try and focus on the hand over her mouth.

Voice low, but still audible, Aveline says, "you know how I explained I don't like details of my private life being shared? I think Carver is like that, but reversed in that he doesn't want to hear any of his sister's details, okay?"

"So evidently Carver's done some jobs for Wall-Eyed Wooka as well," Varric tosses out, wanting to at least try and have today not burn and crash.

"Has he? I'm shocked." Carver starts to defend himself, but Marian cuts him off: "I figured he had more sense than to work for that nasty old goat."

Carver snorts. "Better than begging."

"Barely. Have you _smelled_ him?"

"Ugh! Don't remind me." Carver groans.

Varric snorts. "I see to remember a certain young lady that's done _three_ jobs for old Wooka."

Merrill, freed once again, pipes up. "Oh, is that the one you asked me to douse with water Hawke?"

"I was hoping the stench would wash off." Hawke shudders. "It didn't."

"Still think he's a carrion crawler wearing dirty burlap," Varric says.

Aveline frowns. "Do you mean Wooka Murwin? Owns and rents warehouses in Outer Crafting? He's an aasimar."

Carver and Marian both roll their eyes. Carver's the first one who feels the need to elaborate: "We know."

So Marian picks up: "He banks on it. Talks about how he can talk his way out of any charge 'cause his daddy had The Gift."

"Must have skipped a generation," Varric mutters disbelievingly. "...and he could still be half-crawler."

Aveline frowns. "...what kind of charges would he be talking his way out of?" she asks in terrible casualness.

Carver starts to object, but Marian snorts. "Do your own legwork," she grumbles. "Nothing I'm associated with anymore. Nor Carver, I'm sure."

"No, of course not." he readily agrees, eyeing the guardswoman.

Aveline rolls her eyes. "Of course, of course. I swear, if it wasn't for Wynne, I wouldn't know a single person who's not a criminal."

Wynne sips her tea, her eyes a touch bright.

_"No..."_

Isabela snickers. "The real crime is Carver's poetry."

"You swore!" he says, starting towards her.

"I did no such thing!" laughs Isabela, dancing out of the way.

"Poetry?" Zevran replies, strolling into the kitchen. Still no shirt, and he's... wearing one of Hawke's skirts. It only reaches his knees, instead of midcalf but he's... wearing it very well. "I am interested! Please, my bel oiseau, share with us what art you have crafted after being inspired by our time together."

Varric stares a moment, then looks around, as if asking for others to confirm what he's seeing. Aveline is back to cooking and Wynne merely shrugs.

Isabela rolls her eyes. "Beats me. I wouldn't be caught dead or alive making poetry."

Carver scowls. "It was implied! You don't go reading a man's private poetry!"

"If it was private, why'd you hand-deliver it? Seems I've a right to do as I please with it."

Zevran, not seeing any empty chairs, slides to the ground at Marian's feet, legs folded underneath him in a surprisingly demure pose. Merrill watches the two of them curiously. "You are, umm, a mot concrétiser?" she asks with wide eyes. "That's so lovely. Do you ever write about the stars? Or about the moon? How about the sky or maybe sunsets?"

Carver's ears redden. "Maybe?"

"All of those. In the same, epic missive." Isabela confirms.

Merrill beams at him as she makes her way over with a cup of cider for him. "Oh, please say you're recite some of it for us, please?" Varric hisses sharply as he feels Aveline's fingers dig into his shoulder just as he was about to chime in.

"It-- It wasn't very good, truly. I don't remember most of it." Carver rubs at the back of his neck.

Zevran leans back, his head rest on Marian's leg as he smiles up at her fondly. Marian strokes Zevran's hair, which has the side effect of being similar to petting a dog -- a comparison she chooses not to dwell on.

"I do," says Isabela. "It began with, shall I compare you to a rose? No, you are far more beautiful,"

"Most! I said most!"

Merrill sets the glass down in front Carver, then studies Isabela closely. "Hmmm. Roses are awfully pretty," she says. "Isabela is too, but I don't know about far more..."

Carver sputters, "Well, It was -- a poetic turn of phrase."

"Your beauty like the summer glows," she continues, and he whimpers.

"Please, no more, I beg you,"

as she concludes: "While I am merely dutiful."

"Oh, I like that line," Merrill tells him, patting his shoulder. "I hope it has a happy ending."

"Je t'aime, mon faucon féroce," Zevran murmurs, eyes closing. Marian gives a small, happy sigh, continuing to pet Zevran's hair.

"It doesn't," says Carver, morosely. "The woman I wrote it for turned me down. And then laughed at me with all her friends."

"Oh that's not very nice," Merrill says sadly. "I'm sure you'll find someone much nicer than her," she adds, leaning down to hug him.

Wynne smiles faintly, as amused by her student's obliviousness as she is proud of her kindness. Varric, on the other hand, is considering once again if it's possible that Merrill is actually just the best liar of all of them and enjoys fucking with everyone. Marian's pretty sure of it, hiding a smile behind one hand. "I'm sure I couldn't have done better. Poetry is just not the way to Isabela's heart."

"What heart?" Isabela asks, jovial.

"It's where the shattered glass noise comes from when you shut down admirers," Varric reminds her. "Except in them, instead of you,"

"Then what is the way to Isabel's heart?" Merrill wonders curiously.

"Five copper or two silver if you want it over night," the dwarf replies promptly, earning a slap on the back of the head from Aveline.

"Varric, that's entirely uncalled for!"

Isabela and Marian both laugh, thankfully, while Carver glowers at Varric. "For the record, you don't have to sell yourself like that. I'd be happy to--"

"Are you trying to rescue me?" Isabela sounds incredulous. "Isabela has never needed rescuing in her life."

"Didn't we save you from an ambush the first night we met?" Varric asks, gesturing at himself and Marian.

"No, no. I brought you along as insurance," the pirate corrects. "That's a smart, savvy thing to do."

"Riiiight," he says dryly. "Anyway, don't get your small clothes in disarray, Sworder, Flirty can take care of herself for the most part just fine."

"And I'm sure she's not selling herself at all, given she's not registered at a licensed brothel," Aveline says firmly, giving Isabela a hard look.

"I'm sure they're being metaphorical," she agrees.

Carver sighs. "Is it so wrong to love?"

"Are you really in love with Isabela?" asks Marian, sounding tired.

"Of course I am! Why else would a man write a woman poetry?!"

"Sex," Varric, Zevran, Aveline and Wynne all reply without hesitation.

"Sex," Merrill adds a second later, then looks down. "Everyone said it so..."

Carver's ears redden again. "I wouldn't write poetry just for sex! That's what those licensed brothels are for."

"That's sad," says Marian, in that soft, quiet, 'I am having feels about your life' tone that she uses.

"What's a brothel?" Merrill asks into the silence then.

"I'll explain later, ma fleur d'anges" Zevran says softly, eyes still close as he dozes.

"A brothel. You know. [Brothel]." says Carver, using the elven term to translate, looking at Merrill to avoid Marian's gaze.

"Oh! I wanted to see one of those, just to see, but Zevran says I wouldn't enjoy it," she replies brightly.

"So on other topics, what plans do you have coming up, Carver? Anything interesting?" Aveline asks brightly, trying to move onto a new topic.

"Just got back into town, actually. Figured I'd stay local for a bit." _Until I can't stand Mother anymore, or that hellish place she calls home._

Marian makes a soft, sympathetic noise, almost as if she can hear his train of thought. He flinches, guilty.

Aveline studies him a moment, eyes flicking to Marian, then back to Carver. She nods slightly, coming to a decision. "If you're looking for local jobs, there's a big push for sweeps and patrols in the Undercity gearing. If you can use the sword as well as your build and walk suggests, you should be able to easily met the requirements."

Carver studies her for a moment before nodding. "I may take you up on that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter was coming out way too long, so I've re-adjusted the chapter breaks. After this we have two more: A Bitter Pill, and then the final chapter Memento Mori.


	12. A Bitter Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old acquaintances of Zevran's come back into town looking for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that this Zevran is also this fic's Fenris. This chapter touches on slavery and trauma. As always, [brackets] for language shifts.

It's a week later when Varric calls Marian into his office. He looks serious, a little wary and his eyes are narrowed slightly in controlled anger. In the corner of the room, a half-gnome girl maybe fourteen at most, is carefully trying to be unobtrusive. Doesn't look like she's scared, but instead just doing it out of habit. Based on her manner of dress and the state of her hair, she's either a lower Coalside kid or a street urchin.

She's also reaches down to touch a slight bulge under the waistband of her smock twice in the thirty seconds Marian's been in the room- must be an informant that just got paid. So... evidently somethings come up, something either bad enough or personal enough that it's got Varric upset. Marian tilts her head to the side, studying Varric's face. "Trouble?"

"Little Merry here keeps an ear out for me in Crafting. Nothing big, just keeps me up to date on the ebb and flow, that sort of thing. Last night however... go ahead Merry," he says, glancing at him.

"I waz lurking about the vats- for the tanners, you ken- coupa hours after dark. Sometimes the night crew dere have a cup too much, and they talk too free. Get a coupa copper or two from their chat, notta bit but it's easy." She smirks a little, trying to come off as clever and worldly. "But last night, I heard some bad chat, real dark stuff. Sounded same-same at first. One of them saying they had a couz who was offering full gold coins for help. His buddies weren't buying, who has family with full gold to toss around, you ken? But he said it was straight chat."

She pauses a moment, wetting her lips. "Had a good night night afore last, so I figged I could hang about, have some winks. If it was good chat, then yazza, if not, then I still had some brown for food already. After the shift ended, the chatter, he and two'a his boys stayed after for more. Chat was, his couz was asking around for some lost merch. Kept brining up the full gold, wouldn't say much bout the merch until both his boys said ya."

She hesitates, glancing at Varric, who nods grimly. "Then he said, the chatter he said that the merch was an elf. With white hair and funny tats." The girl shudders. The temperature in the room plummets, but Marian's face shows no sign as the girl continues: "Ain't no mind iffen someone wants to smuggle in merch, but people aini't merch. I liva the street, don't want no slavers around here. Figged Varric would like to hear bout it. Do something maybe."

"Done good," Hawke replies, in a similar accent. She fishes in her purse, pulling out a whole silver and tossing it to the girl. "I'll fix, yah?" Even mixed in the bit of catfolk slang for real authenticity. Without another word, she turns for the door.

"Marian, don't go far," Varric calls out firmly. "Merry, good work, you might want to avoid the vats for a bit, maybe lie low for a while. If you need a bolt..."

She nods quickly. "Place on Elder and Ruslin, Place on Ochre and Parkline," she recites easily before hurrying out.

That done, Varric rushes after Marian. Marian doesn't stop; she doesn't so much as look back at Varric. Where she walks, her bootprints remain behind, outlined in perfect, crystalline ice. She doesn't flinch, her back straight.

"Hawke, where are you even _going_?" the Dwarf asks pointedly.

"To find out who's on the night shift these days at Big Ricky's tannery. It's been ages, but I'm guessing Stan still does the shifts." Her voice is odd -- curious, detached, and entirely at odds with the amount of chill in the air.

"Okay, you're learning fast, good on you," he admits. "Need you to slow down, calm down and use the non-paladin part of your brain. Charging ahead in a whirl of snow makes great story, but doesn't work nearly as well in real life."

"I'm no paladin." She turns, flashing him a dark, feral grin. "Paladins leave witnesses."

"...okay, that's... terrifying, but more in the 'I'm very concerned for a loved one' way," he says carefully. "Deep breath Hawke. If this is a full slave capture band ballsy enough to come into Nyra, then it might be less fatal if it's more than just us on this."

_I am a tool. I fuck whom you wish. I am a vessel of your will._ "I'm pretty sure I can kill them with sheer rage right now," she admits, after a deep breath. "People usually don't like being frozen solid, right?"

"Hawke, I don't think most people even like it when their ears go numb," he says wryly. "Seriously though, we could use a healer and maybe some more muscle. Let's go get Moonbeam, she deserves in on this just as much as you. And maybe Zevran for that matter?" A pause. "Actually, maybe we should check in on him," he says carefully. "Just in case."

Now she stops, her hands tensing briefly before relaxing. If anything, the cold gets worse, but she forces a smile onto her face. "Yes. Let's." _There's no way he's heard this fast. It'll be fine. He's probably hanging around, doing his usual routine. Whatever that looks like these days. Surely he has more important things to-- Shit. He probably knew days ago._ After that weirdly timed pause, she ducks her head without any external provocation and starts running.

"Fu-" Varric saves his breath, rushing after her instead.

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Marian bursts into Zevran's current abode- a cheap single room in Coalside, with Varric a handful of seconds beh--

"Fuck!" He finally gets to finish, ducking back out of the room.

"Well, I was, before you two burst in anyway," Zevran replies from underneath a very well muscular and burly dwarf. Who lets out a curse of his own as he scrambles for something to cover himself with. "Unless you'd care to join, my faucon de surprise," he adds, then sighs as the dwarf starts cursing at him. "Or not."

"This is more important," she says, in a dark tone. She brushes some ice out of her short hair with one hand, barely seeming to notice the dwarf.

Zevran's eyes snap to the gesture, clearly noting the ice. "So it seems," he says slowly. "My apologies, Bradley, but-" More cursing, which Zevran just politely waits through. "I'm sure I'm very offended," he says after the dwarf finishes. "But I think my friend here might encase your fine dwarven rod of power in ice if you don't leave soon so..."

Hawke doesn't look at him; she can't. She stares at the window, watching ice crystalize on the pane, wondering when it became winter. _That's you_ , some part of her reminds herself. _You're magic now._

_That's nice._

A few moments later, they can hear the dwarf stomp past Varric, who is still outside. "Is Merrill hurt?" Zevran demands before Hawke can say anything.

"No." She turns from the window, relieved to be done with this charade and onto important business. "We're going to the tannery." _You should probably tell him why._ "There's a man needs [torturing to death]." _Close enough._ She knows he won't understand the Orcish, but it feels good to let out the gutteral, snarling grunts rather than the more prosiac Common phrase.

Rising to his feet, Zevran pauses only long enough to wrap a clean towel around himself-- thankfully, they'd only just started so there's only a touch of sweat on him. Still, it would be rude to share this way-- the assassin slowly moves up to face Marian. "Marian, you are... acting wildly. Please tell me what has hurt you so," he asks gently, eyes filled with concern.

When she sees his eyes -- so warm, so compassionate -- she can't bear it. She turns from him, flinging her hand out toward the opposite wall -- and a loose pile of snow hits the wall, as if she had started making a snowball and failed to compact it properly before throwing. Tears freeze to her cheeks when she turns back toward him. "It's you," she whispers.

He stills, takes a step back. Before he can do more, Varric speaks from the doorway. "There's word that you might be in danger. Slavers."

Zevran hisses softly, then his face darkens. "And you got mon hawke aimant involved in this?" he snarls at the dwarf. "She does-- I will take care of it. Hawke, you should not--"

"No." Her voice matches the frost in her hair, and she very carefully pronounces each and every word. "I'm. Going. To. Kill. Them. All."

"You- no. No. You shouldn't be apart of that, never apart of that," he demands. "You shouldn't be anywhere hear that filth, please, do not- do not become this."

Varric rubs his forehead tiredly. "Oye! As entertaining as it is to watch you two play 'I can throw myself on the pyre for love even harder than you' maybe we could all just go and kill them? It'll be a great family body outing."

"Great." Hawke says, her tone dark but less cold. She turns toward the door, trying to contain her fury as she goes. Well, the footprint trick is neat, at least.

Varric nods. "Great, so let's go and grab Merrill and-"

"No! Absolument pas! She cannot be-"

"Get over yourself, she deserves to know what's going on and decide if she wants in her own damn self." And Hawke's gone. "Bloody buggering-- Hawke, maybe let Zevran get some pants!"

_He's got long legs. He can catch up._ Privately, she agrees -- Merrill can't be part of this. She's about to do some ugly, ugly things. Merrill would only be hurt by them.

_What are you doing?_ says Varric's daughter, on the stage of her mind. _Zevran doesn't even want you here. He'll probably be hurt by these things too. And for what? Revenge? The best revenge is a long life._

_**I am just a cock and tongue. I will kill as ordered. I am no-one. I obey.** _

_Fair point._

"Alright, fine," Varric says darkly. "Zevran, she's evidently lost her damn mind and is planning on a murder spree. Only thing I can see stopping her aside from violence is Merrill-- or Aveline but she'll come with her own serious problems with this shit. So. You need to get Merrill and get down to the tanner yards faster than she can stalk her way there. Unless you're okay with Marian torturing a--"

Zevran, clad only in pair of trousers and a cloak, is already leaving the room, heading for the front door.

"Brillant." Now he just has to catch up to and stall Hawke. Easy as... digging through a mountain with only a bent spoon and an elf for help.

"Not Merrill." This actually stops Hawke, as she tries to get between Zevran and the exit to the building. "Never Merrill."

Zevran comes to a stop, hesitating. "I would sooner die or worse than see you become even a tenth of what I-" he begins in Elven before he pauses, the look on Hawke's face making him cautious with his words. "What I was before you rescued me. Do not let them do this to you, my noble hawk. Please, for us."

"You can't save me. You want to protect someone, protect Merrill." She looks him in the eye, determination writ large across her face.

"How can I not protect my soul?" he asks softly. He slowly reaches up to stroke her face, given her time to notice. "Please, my love. Not for me. Not for anyone."

"If you knew..." she begins, but she closes her eyes, leaning into his hand. She's still here with him, still Marian, still kind... her fury suppressed, under the surface, in her tense muscles and her set jaw, but no longer overwriting her sense of reason.

Sensing her submission, if only for now, he steps in a little closer, so they can feel each other's body heat. _She's still so cold,_ he notes. "If I knew...?" he prompts her, voice soft. "Do not hold it in, mon elegante faucon."

"I have dreams, terrible dreams," she admits, quietly. "The things I want to do to the men who tormented you... I can picture them in graphic detail. I crave their deaths. I'm already a killer, Zevran. It's too late to save me."

Zevran musters a smile, though it's a little wan. "Oh, Hawke, if dreams were counted against your soul, every man and woman would be burning. And killer you might be, but you are no murderer. No sadist that toys with her prey. Everyday I live in freedom, every moment I have your love, that is more torture for them than anything you can do with blade or... ice," he adds, plucking a snowflake from her hair so she can see it and then kissing it away.

"It's not enough. It will never be enough." Her tone darkens again.

"No, but _you_ and our flower are enough," he counters. "Please do not take them from me. That is what I could not survive."

"I'll still be here. I wouldn't leave you for the world."

"You would never forgive yourself. _I_ would never forgive myself, for being what made you break your soul," he almost begs her.

Now she raises her voice, straining to stop from shouting: "I would never forgive myself if I didn't do this!"

"Kill them yes, slavers are not people, they are a sin that walks, but- but do not-" He shudders. "They made me a monster. Do not let them- let them make you-"

"A swift death is too good for them."

"Dead is dead, my love. As long as they cannot hurt anyone anymore, then what matters the last minutes of their life? Let the Hells have them," he whispers, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"No-one in Coalside fears death. Let them fear what I'll do if I catch them slaving."

Zevran takes a deep breath. "And Merrill? Should she also fear what you can do?" he asks, voice tight and shaky. "She is... more observant than she... oft appears. She will hear eventually."

Marian looks away, her gaze falling on a spot below waist level on the nearby wall. "I know."

"Revenge is not worth..." Deep shuddery breath. "losing you or our... flower. Please, mon... faucon. Promise me you will not... become monster." He's starting to look a bit... shocky.

Varric, noticing this, has aborted his attempts to sneak around them and is instead fingering a heal potion, wondering if that would help. Or maybe a does of dwarven heal potion instead?

Marian stares at him a long moment, pulling away from his hand -- which is now quite cold, given it's been on her skin. "I'm hurting you."

He marshals a bit. "You know me... I like a little slap in my tickle," he says with a wink. "Will... will you sit with me a spell?" he pleads.

She hesitates, then shakes her head. "I need... I need to warm up. Somehow. I can't... hurt you."

"I have a flask of distilled dwarven cheer," Varric offers diffidently. "It's about, oh, three-quarters burn. A mouthful or two of that might perk you both up a bit."

Zevran holds out his hand around the word 'cheer' and gets the bottle before Varric finishes. Not moving away- or looking away for longer than is needed- he slugs back a mouthful and then offers the bottle. Marian takes the bottle next, chugging several long gulps from it. The chill remains; she lowers the bottle, coughing.

Varric studies her for a moment, then sighs. Maybe he _should_ have doped the booze but he... he couldn't do that again. Not to Hawke. It smells too much of betrayal. "So maybe a quick planning session before we leave? Zevran might want a shirt if it's going to be winter."

"I... would not mind a chance to... wipe down. Perhaps find shoes," the weary slayer says. "Unless you have mastered a quick cleaning magic like our fluer d'anges?" Marian reaches out, clamping an icy hand on his shoulder. A chill runs through him; then, he feels clean, refreshed as if he'd bathed in an icy winter spring. "Ah!" Zevran says with a puff of air. "Well. Perhaps keep that little trick in mind should we need to interrupt our pleasures," he muses, brain distracted for a moment. "I was not a dragon rampant, but if I had been, I would not be right now. Very effective. My thanks."

He leans in, intending to sneak a quick peck on the lips. Marian pulls back from him, looking away rather than kiss him. Zevran pauses, a look of hurt flashing in his eyes before understanding blooms. "While I cannot say the cold has never bothered me, I would gladly face it for a kiss from your sweet lips," he whispers.

She looks at her toes. "Not... not now. I have to get this under control." She hesitates, then adds, meekly, "besides, our tongues might freeze together."

A long pause. "I find myself bizarrely curious as to whether my tongue would freeze to your neth-"

"How about more booze? Or maybe that shirt, shirts are nice," Varric says loudly.

A smile! Small, but present; the first small mercy Hawke's shown in some time. "Maybe... maybe a soak in warm water?"

"I do so love the way your hair darkens when wet," he says with a slow smile. "Or the way that light dances of water beading on your skin." She blushes faintly; the temperature of the air doesn't so much warm as feel a little less hostile, less aggressively cold.

"So... I'll just... wait at the bar downstairs," Varric says quickly, moving towards the door. "Maybe have a few drinks, until I forget that my daughter is having sex with a guy that almost had sex with the guy that runs my main warehouse." he mutters in dwarven.

Zevran reaches out to take Marian's hand, an almost shy smile on his lips. "Love me?" he asks softly, his tone being one that makes it hard to tell if he's putting a emotion or physical emphasis on it.

She takes it, entwining the popsicles she calls fingers into his. "Always."

Zevran's smile softens, turns less brittle. Thankfully, Zevran is Zevran, so he has a copper tub big enough for two, three if one is small sized. Soaking together is... a little challenging, but repeated refreshing of the hot water is enough to keep it warm until Marian regains enough control to stop icing the water over. They don't take long, just a ten minutes all told to settle and dress before they're on their way to Outer Crafting.

As previously demonstrated, it doesn't take long for Marian to find Stan and politely goose him into giving an address for the guy running the night shift. Ten more minutes ends up with them near a shack on the outskirts of Crafting. Run-down, no windows, just gaps in the walls sometimes jammed with rags. And the scent of cooked meat, the door looking like it was struck by a ballista bolt.

And, when they get close enough, the sounds of people whimpering, gasping in pain.

Marian bolts into action as soon as she hears the sounds of pain. In her mind's eye, she sees Zevran, a younger Zevran; she sees a whip, or no, a brand, or a needle engraving tattoos. She sees cruelty, pain, suffering. She rushes to stop it, ice forming around her in a whirl of sudden hail flurries. Zevran is but a half step behind her, with Varric covering them from a few yards back. None are expecting to see what they do.

The inside of the shack is singed, lightly charred in a clear arc from the doorway. Against the far wall is an older man, a human of about forty or fifty. He's unconscious, with a seeping welt on his forehead and the left leg of his pants covered in soot. To the left, in the center of the arc, is a young boy. Black shaggy hair, tall and strong but still awkward and gangly. He's also the one making most of the noise, moaning and writhing piteously from the burns covering most of the left side of his body. They're not severe burns, most of it is just red and inflamed, but there are a few areas where the skin is open and raw. Non-fatal, barring infection, but very painful.

The shift supervisor, Mortie, is just past the boy. He's pretty burnt as well, and would probably be screaming if he had the air left to do it. He's on his stomach, his lower legs burnt and blistered like the boy's, but his current issue is the slight figure kneeling on his right arm. The way it's against the floor, it's probably close to breaking, but the dagger next to his hand explains it a bit.

The whole room smells strongly of fire, cooking meat and burnt wood, an... unsettling pleasant combination.

"-tell me who wants to hurt my Zevran and I'll heal you," she demands, voice soft and matter of fact. "I-" she breaks off, glancing over her shoulder at their entrance. "Oh. Hawke. Good, you can help. They want to hurt Zevran. So I hurt them first. I'm not very good at asking questions though... he just keeps cursing and wailing."

Behind Marian, Zevran makes a soft, choking noise that becomes a pained gasp.

Marian's gaze first zeroes in on the boy. He is harmed -- badly. She's already trying to figure out if she can get him to Wynne in time, or get Wynne to come here, when her brain trips over the boy's clothing, his skin. He doesn't look like a slave.

_He looks about Carver's age._

The voice jars her again, and she turns, ice swirling around her open hand as she flings it towards--- Merrill.

**Her** Merrill.

Her sweet innocent flower.

She recalls learning to throw fire from her hands, playing with Merrill, trying to see who could shoot the highest flame upwards. Around her, the scent of charred flesh permeates into her nostrils, tainting and corrupting the happy memory. She can reconstruct the scene: Merrill stood just here, just where she was standing, and unleashed a torrent of hellfire upon the boy.

For a moment, she sees Carver, gasping and writhing on the floor.

Marian stumbles backwards, one step, two. Then she shakes her head, unnatural calm coming over her as she moves forward again, ice swirling around her. She flings a hand at the boy, a spark of light rushing at him, taking him dead between the eyes. She turns toward the man Merrill is talking to, clearly intending to do the same to him.

"Hawke!" Varric shouts, rushing into the shack behind them. He never thinks, even for a moment, that she'd attack Merrill, but in her state, she might get sloppy. So, trusting that neither asshole are faking it (and hoping Bob, who must have been the one to break down the door, is covering things), he rushes at Hawke with a full body tackle. Marian goes down easily; Varric is short, but he's built sturdy, like all dwarves, and easily outweighs her. She's frozen to his touch, her skin faintly blue-tinged, though she doesn't shiver or have goose-pimples; it seems the magic leakage is purely cosmetic, not seriously hurting her. Which is good, because she's like ice.

Zevran just stands near the door way, swaying. And Merrill blinks slowly, head tilting with confusion.

"[Marian, go a fucking hold of yourself! You just killed a helpless boy!]" he snarls at her in Dwarven.

Merrill looks from the pair to the boy and back again, frowning. Reaching over, she pokes the boy, a swirl of green mist filled with stars flowing between them. The boy's wounds heal over smoothly, though the skin retains some light scarring where the worst of the sores were. How long had he been suffering, for the magic to not... Magic heals every wound completely, unless it's already sunk into the soul, convinced the self that this wound will never fully heal. Before he can really wake, she cast another spell, sending him swiftly to sleep. Zevran slowly sinks to his knees, muttering something under his breath.

Marian's voice is flat, cold. "[I have to clean up the scene]." She doesn't try to get up; she knows she can't lever him off her. She expects him to see reason, clearly.

"[How? Killing them all and burying...]" He trails off, his face going slack. "[Hawke, you haven't... you're just upset, you wouldn't...]"

Now she struggles to sit up, though not very hard. "[Before the guard comes. They'll have heard the screams.]"

"[Hawke, we can- we can fix this. I can erase their memories. Pull out anything from right before Merrill arrived to now. We can stage a fire, leave them outside,]" he says hurriedly. "[No need for killing.]"

This apparently catches her interest; she turns to look at him, her face a dull mask. "[You can modify memories?]" There's a pause, as gears turn, and then, something like relief flickers across her face -- gone rapidly, but it takes some of the tension and chill with it. "[You weren't kidding.]"

"[According to the note I left myself, I saw my daughter and two of her lovers having sex. I can handle the idea of it, barely, but not actually seeing it,]" he says dryly. "Got enough charges on it to wipe or alter some three hours or so in five minute chunks," he says a touch louder.

Merrill blinks. "Oh. Why?"

"So Aveline doesn't have to arrest any of us for almost killing a kid, or whatever else went on here," he answers. "Zev- Zevran? Shit." The ex-slave is hunched over on his knees, arms wrapped around himself and shaking. Varric rolls off Hawke, trying to push her at him at the same time.

Hawke sees him, and her compassion overrides her common sense; she's kneeling next to him before she realizes it, reaching out to touch his shoulder, heedless of the danger. He flinches away, terrified and meek words of apology flowing from his lips as he tries to curl in on himself for protection.

Merrill scrambles to her feet as well, moving to hover worriedly just behind Marian. Varric curses softly, glances at Mortie and kicks the dagger away. As bad off as he is, a blade is the only way he'd be even a minor threat to any of them.

She switches to Elven, her voice soft, if a bit less compassionate than normal -- a bit flatter, with rougher edges. "Zevran. My love. Zevran. Come back to me. You are wonderful. You are irreverent and wicked and pure."

Zevran shudders, hard, at her words.

Marian flinches back, calling over her shoulder in harsher, more gutteral Dwarven, "[Get rid of the bodies]". Then she's back to Elven, muttering soothing, comforting words to her lover.

Varric hesitates, then nods. Pulling out his wand, he sets to work. During this, he orders Merrill, rather brusquely, to heal all of them after he slips the two non-spelled ones some oil of taggut to keep them under.

She has to keep going for a few more moments, almost a minute before he finally looks up at her. "...mistress?" he croaks weakly.

Her face contorts in pain, but she replies only, "I'm here. It's okay. You're okay."

Zevran stares at her some more, then nods slowly. "As you will," he whispers.

no no no no no no NO NO NO **NO NO NO NO NO NO**

She pushes aside the screaming, stuffing it down, walling it off. Her hand is warm, suddenly; she gently caresses Zevran's face, making soft, soothing sounds with her mouth.

Behind her...

The room explodes into a maelstrom of snow and ice. Varric can't even see her and Zevran now; the blizzard blocks sight, freezes the ground into a sheet of ice that's precarious to walk on. Somehow, the corner with her and Zevran is just outside the edge of the storm.

Zevran instantly wraps himself around Marian, clearly trying to shield her from the storm. Then hisses as the cold and wet hits him. "Again, my dragon ram..." he trails off, the two sides of himself figuratively staring at each other in confusion. "I... where..?"

In the snow and slush, Varric looks up at the heavens. "[This... was not covered in that parenting book,]" he mutters. "At all."

Marian's breath comes in rough, ragged gasps now -- that magic manifestation took a lot out of her. Her lips are still blue, and as he breaks her concentration, the chill returns to her extremities. She doesn't have an answer for him; she takes a moment to collect herself, to build up the wall of ice between herself and the little screaming voice inside her.

 

Quickly checking on the previously brained guy at his feet, Varric determines that as long as this spell doesn't last too long- and he's fairly certain Hawke can only keep this going for a minute, tops- he'll be fine. Wet and maybe end up with a cold, but fine. "Merrill!," he shouts, peering around the rather small shack.

"Astea!" she calls back.

The dwarf rolls his eyes, but goes with it. "Vangal!" Child's game or not, it's not the worst way to find people in a storm.

Zevran studies the exquisite creature in his arms, acting on whim and instinct as his brain fights with itself. "Blue..." he murmurs. "But so cold." He leans in to kiss her, wanting to make her warm, even as his protective grip shifts in nature.

The kiss breaks the spell; the winds begin to die down, and in a moment all that's left is snowdrifts and melting ice. She pulls back from him, wobbling a little. "dizzy..."

"Thank you," the half-drow purrs, following after her so he can explore her jawline and ear with his lips.

"Oh for- you were in a blizzard!" Varric cries out, though the relief in his voice can't be hidden. Merrill stares a bit as well next to him, though she looks more interested than anything else. "There are satyrs and nymphs that are less randy than you two!" In the rafters, Bob _glares_ at the evil snow witch.

Marian pushes him away, with a soft moan more of fatigue than of pleasure. "Please, no more..." she whispers.

He makes a sad noise, but pulls away. After a moment, he frowns. "..Marian?" he asks cautiously, eyes slowly filling with wary unease.

"I can't..." she mumbles, pressing fingers to her head. "Please, no more... Zevran's okay, I can't do any more..."

"I... I think... Merrill, can you get these two back to Wynne's," Varric says carefully, getting a wide-eyed nod. "I can handle.. this." _Somehow_. "You three should regroup and rest. Alright. Promise me you'll just rest today?" he says, voice hard. Merrill nods again. "Say it," he demands."

Merrill stiffens. "I promise, [goodfather]," she says quickly, dropping a bit of Elven lingo into her Common. "Right to Wynne's, best and rest all day."

The dwarf nods sharply, then looks at the other two expectantly. "...bed sounds nice," Zevran admits. "I agree."

Marian takes a deep breath, then another. She closes her eyes, feeling her heartbeat, feeling the exhaustion deep in her bones. Then, there's a sea-change. She draws herself up, lifting her head, squaring her shoulders, opening her mouth to speak--

And Varric pokes her, kind of hard, in the stomach. " **No** ," he says firmly. "They can't win without getting him and Wynne's place is among the safest I know of. I'll be alone shortly and I'll send for Flirty. Between the her, Wynne and me, the three of you can rest a bit without worry. Not like they can bring in an army or whatever in the middle of Meadows." His expression softens, just a little. " _Rest_ , Marian. For them if not yourself," he pleads in a low voice.

She weakens; she closes her mouth, melting a little. She glances at Zevran, as if to assess if he's _really_ alright, a hint of skepticism on her face. He stares back at her, his expression relaxed but his eyes are shadowed. "...I would like to..." he hesitates, feeling the word 'hide' wanting to be spoken, but finishes with, "rest a bit." He pauses, then, gaze dipping, adds, "if that is... okay."

Marian nods, only relaxing a hair. "Then, we need to get you to Wynne's, to look over." She pushes herself to her feet, bracing against the wall to offer him a hand up.

Zevran relaxes a little as well, carefully taking her hand though he doesn't pull on her very hard. "Marian..." Varric says firmly. "Promise me you stay with them. Promise me on our Clan."

"Of course," she says, her voice resolute despite the small waver of exhaustion in it. "I'll protect him." She pauses, then adds, "and Merrill."

Varric watches her carefully as she speaks, then sighs with relief. "Thank you, [daughter]," he says softly. "Alright, now git. And no sex, just rest," he says sternly, giving Zevran a pointed look, who just stares back with guileless eyes. The dwarf snorts, then waves them away.

Merrill comes over between her two lovers, moving to offer a shoulder to each as the one least wiped out. She's quiet, clearly having realized she did something wrong but not entirely sure what yet. Zevran flinches, ever so slightly as she reaches for him but it's only for an instant before he accepts her touch with a faint smile.

~*~

Marian leans on Merrill, holding Zevran's hand, for most of the walk back. She is quiet; she remains cold, keeping her thoughts to herself. When they get near Wynne's, she pulls free, moving ahead of Merrill to open the door.

She doesn't expect the puppy. She's used to Silence by now; usually she braces against the dog, but when she's caught off guard, she sometimes stumbles a pace or two. Today, she crumples in the entryway, Silence licking her face. After the first few licks, Silence backs away, giving Marian a soulful look. Plopping down on her butt, she lets out a soft but still heartful howl to alert people that someone is hurt.

Within moments, Wynne is at the door. Merrill and Zevran have caught up, Zevran frowning slightly at the sight while Merrill is trying to shush Silence while not letting go of Zevran.

"Enough, thank you Silence." The elder heals gives them all a quick look over and nods firmly. "Merrill, see to Marian, I will assist Zevran."

Marian tries to push herself up to a seating position. "'m fine. Help Zevran." she mumbles.

"Do you think I am incapable of assisting him myself?" Wynne asks mildly. Silence scampers back into the house even as Merrill lets Zevran go so she can kneel next her other lover.

Zevran blinks a little, then musters a smile. "Finally succumbing, my dear Wynne?" he offers with a reasonable approximation of his normal flirtatious tone.

Marian visibly relaxes a touch to hear Zevran speaking so. She lets Merrill help her inside, but refuses a bath, opting instead for a long nightgown and a thick robe. She doesn't let her tuck her into bed, either, but she settles for the couch with a blanket, and lays half-draped on Merrill as she thaws. Before long, she is asleep; her hair becomes damp as the ice in it melts, then dries as she returns to normal temperature.

She sleeps fitfully. When she wakes, she's in Merrill's bed, with both her lovers cuddled up next to her. She starts to doze back off, but then jolts fully awake as she remembers.

_Merrill._

Unable to rest, she slides out of bed, neatening her robe and tying it firmly shut before she heads to the outer area looking for Wynne. _Why do people wear so many layers to bed?_ she wonders, tugging at the sleeves of her nightgown. _My hair is still damp... Varric might need help with the crime scene. Should I dress?_

As she leaves the bedroom, she can hear the quiet murmur of private conversation. Specifically, Wynne and Varric talking. Following it, she finds them both in the kitchen, talking softly over mugs of Wynne's always available tea. Breaking off, the healer offers a warm smile. "You're up earlier than I'd hoped but later than I'd expected. Are you feeling any better?"

Marian nods. "I'm fine. What's the situation? Did the guards come?"

"Not until I'd finished and gone- I gave a tip third hand about seeing a fire, so someone will have gone by the place by now, but we're good," he replies easily. "Memories wiped, place burned down and none sign of a fight anywhere. _I'd_ be hard-pressed to get more than a sniff of something, the guards assigned to OC. are going to have to take a full day to confirm they're at the right shack. We're clear."

Wynne looks a little miffed at the whole 'memory' thing but all things considered...

Marian nods. "What's next? It didn't sound like Merrill got their boss' name out of them."

"I did, before I wiped them," he replies. "But that'll hold for a few hours while you and Merrill explain what the everlasting fuck all that was about?"

Marian shakes her head. "Just doing my job. Where's the boss? I'll get dressed."

"[Honesty. Openness and Trust]," Varric says softly, switching tongues more out of habit than to keep Wynne from understanding. "[Don't shut me out again, Marian. Please.]"

Marian visibly flinches, pain writ across her face. She takes a deep breath, looking away. "[I'm sorry.]"

Sticking to dwarven- not like anyone here can't understand it, he replies gently, "we're still learning. Come have a seat, Marian. Drink some tea and... we'll figure this out."

"I don't have answers for you," she warns him in the same language, as she moves toward the table.

"Well, maybe we can find them now," he relies as Wynne pours her a cup and doctors it as Marian prefers. "So... how about we start with something hopefully easy- what was up with that snow storm at the end?"

"The what?" she asks, blankly.

"Yeah.... okay, fine. We'll circle back around to the localized sleet storm you conjured up," he says after a moment. "You... you kind of implied this wasn't the first time you've... cleaned up a mess like this," he asks slowly in an indirect fashion.

She flinches. "I didn't mean for you to find out about that." Her voice is quiet, her expression guilty.

"I gathered as much," he mutters. "When? Why?"

"Back when we first met. Before we met, I was... involved in some things." She curses briefly. "I was a refugee hurting for money, you know what kinds of things I was involved with."

"I... kind of... you were such a... sweet girl, you burst into tears when you thought I was going to... I guess I let myself be convinced you'd managed to... not get in that deep before we met," he says softly. He's seen her desperation and despair, but he'd somehow missed any sign she'd had to dirty herself like that.

She looks at her hands. "Never... what I thought you were proposing. But... some things, yes. It was... it was a hard day, when we met. Not because -- I mean -- before I ran into you."

"Is there... is there anything, _anything_ at all, that might come back on you?" he asks with some concern. "The more lead we have, the better we can handle things."

She shakes her head. "I took care of things."

"...okay, can we follow up on that just a lot?" he asks carefully. "Because that sounds like 'I killed a lot of people and hid their bodies in my murder basement' and I've gotta say, that's not a good sound for you."

"Murder basement? You've seen where I was living. A basement would have been a luxury, no way I'd waste it on murder," she counters.

"I don't know, it might have improved the resale value," he fires back. "But seriously, how bad are we talking and with who?"

She sighs. "A few people. Nothing massive. I lied a lot about who I was, where I lived, and so on. After I moved, I haven't heard anything since. It's fine. I was too small-time to bother with."

"...alright. Just... keep me in the loop. If anything comes up, please tell me soonest?" he asks, reaching out to take her hand.

"Of course." She says, quietly. "But I doubt the Blackwaters will bother tracking down an ex-Coaldust gone legit over the stuff I was involved in." She pauses, then adds, "Aveline can't know, of course."

"No, she probably shouldn't know about a lot of our unofficial jobs," he says dryly. "Doubt she'd care about your having been Coaldust when you were younger, dumber and desperate though." He pauses a moment, then coughs. _Honesty and Openness._ "Speaking of whom... I may have left her a message to swing by after her shift. So..... we'll have some guard support to finish things up. But that's hours yet, so back to your. Evidently you've done some darker than I realized, so okay. Need to... work on that. Not doing that, I mean. For Aveline's sake, if not Merrill or Zevran's. Or mine."

"I would prefer smaller amounts of killing and violence in general," Wynne murmurs.

"Let's keep it reasonable," Varric says with a frown.

Marian cracks a smile. "I haven't been involved in that for years. I'm straight now, Varric." Wynne snorts loudly, then bursts into a deep belly laugh. Varric just kind of gestures towards her. Marian laughs, then, shaking her head. "Well. In that regard I am."

"You, the lot of you, are all bent and crooked," Wynne finally manages, still chortling.

"Hey!"

Wynne brushes the dwarf's objection aside. "We've only your word that Bianca is female."

Hawke buries her face in her hands, still laughing. "I suppose we are. And you're the worst of the lot, Wynne, harboring deviants like us."

She sniffs a little, her face smoothing back into a prim and proper mask. "I'm merely an old lady, being taken shameful advantage of by you lot of licentious ruffians. Woe. Woe and ruin," she declares blandly.

Varric shakes his head. "Where has this been? When did you have _snark_?"

Marian laughs. "Someone hasn't been paying attention," she chides. "Wynne snarked me the first day we met."

"Pish and tosh," Wynne says, slipping on a haughty accent. "To slander an old woman so."

Varric stares a moment. "This entire day has been like a long-lasting Confusion spell."

Marian's smile fades some. "I hope you weren't too-- I hope I didn't really worry you."

Varric winces. "Just kind of a fuck lot, yeah. Not as much as Moonbeam, but close," he admits.

And there goes the last of the mirth. Hawke looks down at her hands, silent. Varric reaches over to grasp them. "Hey. I worry cause I care, remember? I... I was worried you'd cross a line you couldn't come back from or forgive yourself for. But you didn't so... still worried but less so."

"I wouldn't have," she says, quietly. "Now that you know... that I'm not as innocent as you all seem to think, you see that, surely?"

"Just because you... ran with a rough crowd, sold some drugs or played lookout for some gang fights, doesn't mean I want you to go around torturing and killing people," Varric says firmly, watching her reactions to his probing to see if he guessed correctly. Or to get a feel for how far off he is.

She flinches, guilty. "It was more than that," she says, quietly. "I was no good when the fighting broke out, but I was useful carrying and -- and burning bodies. And I've killed before, with you even. I knew what I was getting into."

"It's not the same," Wynne says softly. "Killing in a fight and... killing in the quiet."

"It's not that different," Hawke says, quietly.

Wynne pales a little, her eyes searching Hawke's face. She'd... hoped that the girl had never... but she has. And...

Varric squeezes her hand tighter. "Just because you owe money, doesn't mean more money owed is fine. Getting stabbed once doesn't mean you should let everyone do it. And just because you've... got some blood on your hands doesn't mean you should hurry out and find some more to dip them in."

"I killed that boy today, and I'm not even.. I'd do it again." she replies, her tone still soft, serious.

"You... didn't," Varric says softly. "Merrill healed him. Doesn't... you would have, but... you didn't at least." _I'd do it again? Sweet Astea, what do you even say to that?_

Marian pauses a moment, taking a deep breath through her nostrils. Her shoulders slump, some tension flowing out of them. "Oh," she says, quietly. Despite what she said, despite her brave front, there's clear relief in her tone, among other things. Wynne relaxes as well, though she tries to hide by rising to refill their tea.

Varric smiles a bit. "Yeah. So. What... what, ah, prompted all that anyway? I mean... I know... gods, I don't dispute the whole hunting down and erasing slavers thing, specially these ones but you... you went away there, Hawke."

Hawke looks at her lap, twisting her hands in it. "I... Do you remember that day when I... when I was still recovering, and we talked in your study?"

"...yeah," he says quietly. "I... kind of thought you'd... been working that out with him. He seems to have been doing well," he says cautiously.

She shakes her head. "We haven't... talked about it since then." she replies, quietly. Before Varric can protest, she adds, "I tried! But he was... he was fine. That was just a bad day for him. So, I couldn't... I didn't know how to..."

"Deal with how it made you hurt, for him?" he suggests. "Or get him to open up. Not surprising he tried to avoid anything."

She shrugs. "He knows I'm there if he needs me."

"And my first point?" he gently reminds her.

A sigh. "I thought I was... I thought I was fine."

"Snuck up on you?" he asks with a sad smile. "Well...we can talk it over now?"

"I don't know what to say," she replies, her voice soft. "It hurt. I thought I knew how much it hurt, I thought I was prepared, but I wasn't. And I needed... I needed to hurt someone back."

"When it hurts most is when you need to find a loved one first," Wynne says. "Go to Varric or your loves or me. You should never act on emotion that strong."

"Varric was there. And-- and I went to get Zevran. It wasn't as if I were alone."

"You were kind of acting like it," Varric points out. "And you would have run off alone if I hadn't chased you. Or not bothered with Zevran if I didn't point out he might be found before we finished."

She shakes her head. "I barely remember-- oh."

"Not remembering isn't a great sign either," Varric mumbles. "You... okay, hear me out before you turn me down. But maybe you- and Merrill- could... just stay with Zevran, make sure he's okay. Flirty and I can work with Aveline and the guard, finish this up," he says, already bracing himself.

Hawke opens her mouth to argue, but... catches herself. She pauses, taking a deep breath.

_Be logical. Does he really need you to take care of this? Sure, you're a mage. You can put out a lot more damage faster. You can handle groups better than he or Isabela can. But... can you be trusted? Are you going to be able to handle it?_

She closes her mouth, really giving the matter some thought before she sighs. "You don't want Aveline seeing me like that." It's not a question.

"I'm kind of hoping that if you do come and she's around, you'll check yourself better," he admits, eying her with concern. _She's... listening. Actually mulling it over. Fuck, she's worse off than I realized._

She looks up at him, chewing her lower lip. Finally, she asks, "How bad was I?"

"You almost killed a kid that was unconconscious and suffering from burns over half his body," he says slowly. "To prevent Merrill from going to jail for murder, true, but still."

"That wasn't-- " She sighs. "That was rational. I had to handle that fast, before guard attention showed up. Without memory modification, they were bound to finger Merrill and..."

"...okay, that's... not the worst chain of logic ever," he admits with a wince. "And don't think you're the only once getting a talk, I don't even know what the fuck lead to Merrill prodding someone's moderate burns to make him give up names..."

"The same thing I was thinking?" she asks, quietly.

"Murder murder kill?" Varric says sarcastically, then sighs. "Sorry." Another sigh."Zevran."

She nods, just a little. "I tried to keep her from knowing how bad it was with him. But, I guess.. I guess she knew." She takes a deep breath. "But that wasn't what I was asking. If I'm being rational, I can also remember not to say anything about it in front of Aveline. If she'd been there, I wouldn't have-- I would have done something different." _Died again, probably._ "But I was... the period before then was a blur. If Aveline had been there for that...." _Would I be in jail?_

"She... would not have been excited to hear what you were saying, no, but you didn't _do_ anything before... the frost ray thing," he says after a moment. "At most, she might have slapped you or something. Grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you until your head rattled back into normal configuration."

She grimaces. "I might have hurt her if she tried," she says, slowly. "I'm not sure."

He winces a little. "Well, she's a nice girl, I'm sure she'd give you your teeth back after you woke up," he offers lamely. "To be honest though, I think you'd have taken one swing at most and then locked up when you remembered who you hit."

"Maybe," she says. "But... Varric, you realize I-- care, very much, for Aveline, right? I'm still... I'm still not over Anders. This could have been a disaster."

"It... could have, yeah," he says softly. "But it didn't. Neither of them did. Because you... you followed your heart, remembered everyone you love and found a third path. You just have to... work on that tunnel vision you get."

"I... do," she says quietly. "Today, I forgot everyone but Zevran the way I forgot everyone but Anders before. And-- Maybe... maybe I hurt you the way I hurt Merrill before."

"This time you pulled back faster. And... earlier. So... progress!" he says forced cheer.

"You just need to remember to listen. And talk to your Clan. Let us help," Wynne offers softly.

She nods, slowly. "I'm glad you were there," she says, her voice gentle. "I-- I wasn't expecting this. I lost my head. I should have talked to you instead of going off like that."

"Yeeeaah," he says slowly. "I fucked this up a bit too. I didn't notice you were... even if you were as.. solid on this as you seemed, I still should have.. eased you into it better than just... having it laid out like that." He pauses, frowning, then adds, "maybe I wasn't as... solid about it as I thought either."

She nods, slowly. She starts to say something -- _You didn't see him that day,_ it would have begun -- but her face contorts in pain and she shuts her mouth, shaking her head as she closes her eyes, trying to ward off questions. _I'm not ready to talk about that part of today yet. No way._

"Not saying I... I mean, I like Flirts fine, when he's got pants on, but I don't- not like you. But... still not filled with sunshine feelings know what happened to him. Or how it messed you up- again, not blaming him, just... I don't like you being in pain."

She nods, opening her eyes after a moment when the worst of the pain passes. "It's horrific, what they did. It's unconscionable."

"Yeah it is," Varric says firmly, nodding. "And they need to die for it, the ones that did it. But not some scut trying to make a quick coin because his family has to choose between firewood and food every other day. Them, we just beat the shite out of and maybe toss to Aveline. We have... we have to draw lines or we start digging too deep without even seeing the earth swallow us in."

Marian nods, slowly. "I know that. When I'm... myself, anyway. I don't think I'd have done... what Merrill did. Not to them. Their boss -- I don't know." She sighs. "How much responsibility do you have to have to see what you're doing is wrong, really?" She pauses, then adds, quietly, "That kid can't have been older than Carver."

"A year or two younger, I think," he says, just as quiet. He pauses. "I figure... if a chance is had, Flirts should get first dibs on his..." He doesn't want to, can't, even say 'old master.' It's just... wrong for someone like Zevran to be chained. Anyone, obviously, but even more so him. "Previous tormenter."

Again, that little grimace of pain flashes over Hawke's face, gone unexplained. "Yeah. I know. I just... you heard him. If he had his way, I'd never get a piece."

Wynne frowns severely, not impressed with the idea of _anyone_ taking their time with an execution.

"...why do you have to? Have a piece? If he's safe, if he's... alive and happy.. isn't that enough?" he asks slowly.

"I don't." She gives a helpless little whimper. "But I-- Varric, if it were me, would you be able to stop yourself?"

"Ye-" He cuts off, rubbing his face with his free hand. "Maybe. Probably? If- if you asked, yes, I think so." He sighs. "Probably have to drink my weight in rotgut over the next few days though. Don't do that by the way, your puny little elf liver would liquify."

She grimaces, but makes a joke anyway: "I'm a dwarf now, remember?"

"Like... quarter dwarf. Stick to whiskey or brandy, lightweight." He offers a flicker of a smile. "So... if... if we stay in overnight, do you think you can tag along with Aveline and I tomorrow, without... losing it?"

She looks up, startled. "I-- I don't know, for sure. I think so. And... I'll go, if things get too icy."

"Can I get prior permission to glue you to the floor if you start frosting over?" he asks, only half joking.

"No way," she laughs. "You'll do it."

"Duh." He gives her a look. "That's kind of the point."

"I'll tell you what. Things go south and I don't excuse myself, and I'll promise not to have anyone over your place for a month."

_Yeah, because you'll be in prison..._ "Suppose that'll have to do," he says with a tired smile. "So... so you okay?"

She looks for an instant like she's going to say she's fine, but instead, rubs at her temple and says, "No."

Shifting his chair closer, he pulls her to him in a half-hug. "You're not alone, Marian. Just ask."

She wraps her arms around him, clinging to him tightly. "Sorry," she whispers. "I'm... still really shaken up. It was... bad, for me. I don't know how I found the strength to help Zevran."

"That would be the dwarf quarter," he whisper lightly, then kisses her temple. "You have a heart greater than any I've ever seen.. You hurt so deeply, but you love even more."

She pulls back just enough to wipe at the tears that appeared out of nowhere. "Did you hear--" She cuts herself off.

"...I heard... a lot today," he says carefully, studying her face. He wants to let it go, wants to not talk about it but... "During Zevran's... shut down. 'I will devote myself' and... other stuff."

She flinches, pulling away. "Yeah," she whispers.

"Yeah, I heard. I... gather the last time was... just as bad," he says carefully, letting her pull back but not away.

She shakes her head. "This was worse," she croaks, her voice hoarse. "It was more... blatant."

"Ah. He... leans on you. And Merrill. If the two of are are... bending, then.. damn," he mutters.

"I will try to convince him to talk with me," Wynne says gently. "It would be well if he was not quite so dependant."

Marian shakes her head. "No, you-- I don't know that he'd appreciate my talking about him like this. If I wasn't-- if this wasn't so..." She gestures helplessly.

"I think what I saw alone today is enough to warrant Wynne asking up on him," Varric points out. "You had nothing to do with it."

She winces, but nods. "I need to get better at dealing with this stuff, so I don't have to... share secrets."

"That's... a sticky judgment call," he admits. "You deserve to be able to break down and talk things over but... yeah, they deserve to be able to select who knows what and all that. Maybe... maybe something to talk over, all of us together, after things settle a little."

Things having apparently settled for now, Wynne excuses herself to go about giving Merrill a nudge.

After a moment, Hawke says softly, "Varric? I uh... I told Aveline some about Anders the other day. Just so you know. Just in case."

"Okay. She, uh, took it well I assume. Given... currently not arrested," he says slowly.

"I didn't tell her what he did that he wanted me to cover up. But I promised her, we'd taken care of it, and he won't re-offend. By the end of it, she was... understanding."

"Huh. Yeah, that's... pretty good. For both of you. And all of us, too. She... just let it go after that?" He suddenly has a thought click. "Wait, did this come about because of her, ah, overhearing me during 'that week.'"

She nods, a small nod. "But that's not why I'm telling you. It just hit me that-- if that was the wrong decision, you'd be the one I'd come to for help. I don't want you to be blindsided."

He tries to cover it, but he winces a bit. Blindsided, like he got her this morning. "Yeah. Good... good thinking. But she seems okay with it? With... all of it, Carver too?"

She nods. "I told her... I couldn't tell her the story if she was going to go after Carver. She says... as long as I don't lie, she won't ask me what I can't tell her."

"Huh. That's... a pretty good compromise. I have to admit, I was a little worried about how you two would.. deal, given how much of, well, all of us are... creatively adaptive to the legal system," he confesses.

She nods. "Well, me too," she admits. "But I-- I want to be with Aveline. And she wants to be with me. So we're going to see if we can make it work."

"...she is pretty good with you. I still can't believe how... mortal and... like an actual person she is around you. She doesn't call me Tethras in that 'I dearly want to arrest you' growl of her's anymore," He pauses. "Actually kind of spooked me the first time she called me Varric."

Marian looks away. "Was it... about a week after I woke up? Because that might have been my doing."

"Yeeesss, it was...." he says, giving her a slightly narrowed eyed look. "What do you mean 'your doing?' Or is this one of those things a father doesn't need to know about?"

"She said..." her voice drops to an embarrassed whisper. "She said you were better than she gave you credit for. That you're not like your brother at all. It was... what impressed her was... Um.. the fact that Anders is alive."

"Why on Aldis would.... oooooh," he says slowly, the copper dropping. "Yes, well. Clan before personal satisfaction," he says gruffly. "Some might not run that way, but given that you're the Matriarch, this one _certainly_ is." He looks uncomfortable, in the way of someone trying to play off praise or a compliment.

Marian smiles at him. "I told her you were amazing. I've put you through so much, and you still love me. That's enough to recommend anyone."

"To love you? Yeah, it's an easy sell," he replies warmly, then glances off to the side. "Incoming," he adds absently.

A few second later, Merrill shuffles into the room in her normal undead impersonation routine. She does not shift from sleep to awake or vice versa well, especially in regards to naps. She continues to shuffle until bumping the table, then pauses with a mumbled greeting. Or possibly a sexual proposition or prayer to unknown gods. Hard to tell.

"Let's get her some tea," Varric decides in common, rising to make that happen.

A few minutes later, the elf is slowly returning to life, blinking a lot and staring at Marian blearily. Her first coherent words are something the group is already aware of by this point, "Zevy is taking a bath. Je t'aime, Hawke."

"I love you too," she says, switching languages with ease.

'Zevy' Varric mouths at Hawke from out of sight of Merrill. Switching as well, though for her its just instinct, Merrill beams at Hawke. "I'm glad. I was worried you were... upset with me," she says slowly after sipping at her tea. "You.. .acted... earlier, I mean. You were acting... different?"

She winces. "Merrill, what you did... why did you do that?"

Merrill cocks her head to the side. "Because they knew who the people who wanted to hurt our Zevran were." She frowns, looking a bit confused. "Didn't that nice Merry girl explain that to you? She said you'd already knew..."

Varric sighs a little, closing his eyes. Yeah, that would explain things. If Merrill had run into Merry when the girl left and went straight to the Tannery instead of checking on Zevran... yeah. Little surprised Merrill was able to find Mortie but... luck, magic or maybe just... better track down Merry, see if that's a lose end. Lost in thought, he continues to let Hawke do the talking for now.

"Merrill... What you did, that's... that's torture." She says, quietly. "That's not... [I am such a hypocrite] That's not an acceptable way to treat people." She uses Dwarven to swear often enough around Merrill that it feels natural to slide back into it for her self-admonishment mid-sentence.

Merrill seems confused. "But... isn't that how you and Varric question people? You... pin them down or against something, then twist an arm until they answer you," she asks, her tone entirely honest and questioning.

"It is... there is a difference between fear of pain and actual pain," she says, hesitantly. "The level of suffering... the boy, particularly. I could overlook the man."

"Oh..." She's starting to look distressed now, though... it reads more over having made a mistake rather than realizing she crossed a line. "I just thought, well, if they were in pain, it might work better. And that way I'd only have to heal them once. And... he was unconscious, the boy. Wasn't he?"

Turning back in, Varric wines a little. "Moonbeam, didn't it... bother you that they were in pain?"

"Well... yes, at first, but then I remembered about how you and everyone is always telling me about how I have to ignore that when we're fighting because apologizing to people for attacking them in a fight is actually rude. So I just thought..."

Marian sighs. "You only ignore it because if you spend time apologizing, they'll have a chance to kill you. If your life isn't in danger, you're meant to care."

"Oh," Merrill thoughtfully. "That makes sense. So, umm... should I apologize to th-"

"No, that's not needed, Moonbeam. I, uh, already took care of all that," Varric says hastily. Worth every gold, but wands aren't cheap and he'd prefer to not use more charges, thank you.

Marian swallows. "Did you... after we showed up, Merrill, did you hear Zevran saying anything unusual?"

Merrill frowns, trying to think back. "I heard him muttering something, right before you rushed over to him, but I couldn't make it out. Why, was it important?" she asks innocently, causing Varric to hastily cover a wince.

"No," she says, quietly. "No, it's fine."

"Okay," she replies, trusting Marian's opinion. "...is... is Zevran going to be okay?" she asks, voice dropping to a whisper. "He... I think he had a nightmare. That's what woke us up. He... we cuddled a bit, but then he said he wanted to soak and..." She frowns, looking guilty. "Should I have not let him? I was really groggy but..."

Marian gets up from the table. "Eat some breakfast. I'll take care of our wicked warrior."

Merrill smiles sweetly at her before rising. It's noonish, but if her love wants breakfast, breakfast she shall have! Maybe some fruit and oats? And bacon of course; she doesn't get it, but everyone else loves their bacon. Varric watches the elf worriedly, thoughtfully.

Leaving the kitchen, it doesn't take long to reach the bathroom. Her first soft knock goes unanswered, but a second louder one is met with an indistinct reply. A rather drowsy sounding one.

Marian opens the door, calling gently in Elven, "Zevran? Love?"

"Always," he mumbles back. His eyes are closed and he's slumped in the tub with his legs pulled up close to his body. It's not quite a fetal huddle, but it's close.

Marian drops the robe, reaching to pull the nightgown over her head as she moves toward the tub. She leaves her smallclothes in place as she kneels beside the tub, reaching to put an arm around him. "Oh love," she breathes.

As she nears, she realizes the bathwater is, if not cold, certainly rather cool. He tenses at her approach, then, after opening an eye enough to see her for a second, shifts towards her touch. "...did... did I hurt anyone?" He breathes out the question, voice terrified.

"No." She pauses. "You like the cold? It... helps?"

He sags into her, letting out a series of short, desperately grateful breaths. After a moment, he finally replies, "it... it does. It's.. You are- under elf, if you get close enough, you smell of frost and-and snow. If I close my eyes, I can..." A pause. "And... my first... he was Ifrit. It was always hot there."

Marian stiffens, stifling a small gasp of heartache. _Zevran, that's..._ She releases him just enough to gesture under the water, whispering in Draconic; a beam of blue shoots through the water, chilling it and filling the air with the subtle scent of frost.

He twitches a little, then flashes a quick, wan smile. "Thank you," he murmurs. It's almost too cold now, almost painful, but it'll warm soon and the thought her doing that for him so naturally warms him well enough. And the scent... "My winter hawk." He opens his eyes then, gaze filled with lingering pain and shadows that are slowly being pushed back by love and feelings of safety.

"Wicked one," she says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

He lets out a low purr, enjoying her touch immensely. Alas, it's a mite too cold for his wicked one to do much, but it's still nice. "What... I... do not remember- in the shack, after... I just... the scent of cooked flesh and.. and Merrill."

"You... You had a rough time of it. We got through. Varric removed their memories and cleaned up the scene. Merrill has been spoken to. Everyone lived."

Zevran blinks a few times, than shakes his head. "That... he can do that?" he asks carefully.

"He has a wand." She sighs. "I didn't know either."

Zevran looks away, carefully studying the water at the other end of the tub. "Can... could he... remove..." He swallows hard. "I am glad everyone is well."

"I don't know," she replies quietly. "He might. If you asked. He cares about you, Zevran; he's just very... dwarfish about it."

He hunches in a little, then darts a glance at her. "You.. would... approve of...that?" he asks tentatively.

"Does it matter?" Her tone is still gentle. "I want you to be happy. If that means forgetting.... even if it means forgetting me... it might be worth it."

He twists in the water to face her, eyes blazing. "I would **never** forget you or Merrill," he hisses. "Nothing would be worth that. _Ever_."

"Alright," she says, pulling back to give him some space. "You don't have to. I'm just saying."

He winces a little, ducking his eyes. "I... apologize. I did not mean to... startle you," he says softly. "But I just... even before... I was sold, my life was... empty. I was never forgiven for the shade of my skin and... This last year has been more... valued than the rest of my life combined. I cannot, will not, be grateful or even accept what- what was done, before, but I can... judge it balanced, to have you both. To have this, to be- to be of your Clan."

Marian lowers her gaze to the floor, eyes filling with tears. Rising partially from the bath, Zevran opens his arms, silently offering, pleading, for an embrace.

Instead of going to him, Marian takes half a step back. "Zevran... when you were... You said some things to me.."

Zevran stills, then slowly lowers his arms. "I.. do not recall anything from... after that first moment," he says slowly, trying to work his way through this most blind. "But I apologize if I... said something... cruel or offensive."

"No, I don't-- I don't think you _can_ be cruel to me. I just... I'm not certain I'm.... good for you."

Zevran gives her an incredulous look. "My love, I do love you, but sometimes you are really quite stupid. By what ridiculous metric have you failed, that _you_ would not be good enough for _me_?"

"You... you called me mistress," she whispers.

"Ah." That sits for a moment, then he sighs. "It... I do not actually..." He pauses a moment, trying to explain, to find the right words to describe... "I am not large, nor overly strong. I fight, if I must, with grace and skill. I dodge, I evade, I out-step my foes. If I must, if I am pinned down, still I must use this. I parry, defect, because if I block, I shall lose the contest and be crushed. This... is the same. If I cannot... evade my... memories, the... conditioning, I must parry."

Marian nods slowly, turning his words over in her mind. "So you didn't... mean it. Exactly. You don't think of me as.... I'm not..."

"When it.. .gets that bad, I must... I am terrified I will lose, will... obey what the... shadows of their voices command. So I... listen to you instead," he confesses. "I choose to listen to your voice instead. I know you would never... I know you love me. _Me_. Not my skills, or my use, but... me. I... do respect you more than any other, your opinion and your judgement, give it more weight than anyone else's but I think that is normal. Is it not?" He's hesitant, concerned that his point of view, his understanding is flawed and his admittance will hurt her but... he also needs to be sure. "For... those like us... to each other."

She nods again. "Giving weight to my judgement is fine." She looks at her hands, turning them over to study her knuckles. "I don't want you to feel like.. like you couldn't leave if you wanted. Like I would ever make you do anything you didn't want to do."

He smiles crookedly at her. "My thoughtful hawk... you are so careful, so very careful to never imply a binding or tether, despite how much that must sometimes hurt. I... Perhaps I should have said this earlier, but I have noticed that and I love you for it." Zevran is quiet a moment, thinking, then nods firmly. "Perhaps an exchange of promises?" He licks his lips, working himself up to this. "I will swear that I will leave, I will refuse you, should I ever truly think it is what I need for myself. In exchange, you must promise, that if I ever... if I am ever a danger to you, to Merrill or yo- our Clan, then you will stop me. Without hesitation. And that you will forgive yourself for doing so."

She looks ready to agree, right up until the last sentence. She shakes her head. "Don't ask me the last. Up until then, yes, but..."

"Eventually then. I... I do not wish to be responsible for taking that light from your eyes, my love," he says softly. "I do not expect-- my... fears, on this matter are dwindling every day your voice is far more enticing than any of theirs," he adds with a wink. "but should it come to pass, I want you to forgive yourself. Or whoever had to stop me, if it is another."

"Even if Varric was the one who... who had to do it, it would be myself I'd struggle to forgive. I won't... I can't fail you, not like that. It would tear me apart." She sighs. "It's probably not healthy to tell you that but... [Honesty, Opennness, and Trust]. Honesty, Openness, and Trust," she translates for hi.

"And that is why it is your voice I seek in my darkness," he tells her softly. "Then will you promise me to _try_?"

"Try, I can do." she concedes.

"Then we have a deal," he says, offering his hand. "I believe it is dwarven custom to shake on it, but if you are feeling better, I can suggest a... custom of my own to seal a deal?" he says with a playful leer.

"A handshake, for now," she says, with a gentle smile as she takes his hand. "Thank you, my love."

He squeezes her hand tightly, eyes warm. "Is it later yet?" he asks after letting go, tone clearly just teasing.

She laughs, moving towards him to rest her head against his chest. "Not quite."

He cuddles her close, lowering his head so he can inhale the scent of her hair. "This suffices," he says softly.

~*~

The rest of the afternoon is rather a lazy one. Wynne retires to her room to read and rest as is her habit. Merrill and Zevran curl up on each side of Marian in the living room. Much of the time, they're just quiet, but Marian also reads a few stories in elven to the pair. Merrill knows them of course, some of them well enough she silently mouths the really good bits along with Marian, but Zevran is enthralled by parts of his heritage that were never given to him.

Varric stays nearby, but to avoid hovering, sets up in the kitchen with some paperwork. As much as he's put significant effort into finding great help and trusted supervisors, he does have a business to run after all. Still, he can work from home if he wants to. Or well, Wynne's home, he supposes. _Goodhome?_ He snorts at himself, amused. _The thoughts I'll have to avoid inventory reports..._

It's five hours past noon when Aveline's crisp rat-a-tat knock is sounded on the front door. Marian looks up, glancing to Varric -- Merrill's wriggled halfway onto her lap again, it'd be awkward to get up.

At the pause, and second knock, Varric heads for the door. "Lady Lawful, dour and daunting as usual," he greets her cheerfully.

"Shut it, smuggler," she replies in kind, brushing past him to get to Marian. She hesitates only a second due to the others there before taking a knee so she can get roughly on the same eye-level. "You alright? Varric's message was... worryingly un-worrying. And vague," she adds, tossing a glare over her shoulder.

Marian blinks. "... [What did]--" She notices she's speaking Elven and cuts herself off, switching back to Common. "What did he say?" she asks, carefully.

"[That... certain parties of interest]," Aveline replies just as carefully, not looking at Zevran, "were spotted in town and--"

"My former owners," Zevran cuts in, also in elven. Aveline winces, but nods.

"Yes, them. And that you were forting up for now while Varric's network trying to tease out some names."

Surrendering to the inevitable, Marian swaps back to Elven. _My Common's going to rust away to nothing._ "Yeah, that's basically the long and short of it. It's been a trying day for all three of us."

Aveline hesitates again, this time a smidge longer, before leaning. It takes her a few seconds to figure out how to try and give a support gesture when Marian is covered in people. Long enough for Zevran to chuckle softly. "For once, I will be good and merely say that I shall not be offended if you brush against me, my hawk's shield. Nor, I suspect, will our flower." Merrill hums an agreeable noise.

The paladin huffs a little, but nods and wraps an arm around Hawke's shoulders, her hip pressing against Merrill's shoulder and her bracing hand Zevran's leg. "I'm glad you're all okay," she murmurs. "Yes, even you dwarf," she adds louder.

Varric just rolls his eyes before stepping back into the kitchen to start a pot of tea. _Dust and dirt, now Wynne's got me doing it,_ he realizes, but continues anyway.

"There was never any question of that," breezes Marian. "I've become quite the capable combatant, between you and my wicked warrior here."

Leaning back, Aveline snorts. "More he than myself. I used to fear I'd get an ulcer from worrying every time you touched something with a sharp edge," she says dryly.

"Is elven our official Clan tongue?" Merrill asks suddenly, earning a laugh from Zevran.

"All of us, Wynne... Isabela... yes, I suspect it is," he snickers with delight.

There's a sudden silence from the kitchen, then the sound of grumbling.

"Nope," chirps Marian. "We're a cosmopolitan clan. We speak all languages equally."

Merrill pouts a little. She likes elven.. .she understands most of the idioms.

Aveline shakes her head, amused. "Perhaps the most... shared and common," she consoles the elf. "Regardless, I assume nothing has happened here, given the lack of property damage. Has there been any news? Do we-"

"I am not living in a tree!" Varric shouts abruptly, forcing Zevran to hide his face in Marian's chest to stifle his laughter.

"...have any leads yet?" Aveline soldiers on, trying to keep her expression serious.

"Varric has a name," says Marian, smiling faintly. "One of his informants--" She fumbles slightly, changing course, though you'd have to be perceptive to notice. "stopped by his office this morning, and he's had an update since then that I haven't heard the details of." _'Don't lie to me. Omit if you must.' Sorry, Aveline._

Aveline raises an eyebrow, but she just shakes her head a little. "I think I'll refrain from asking any details about Varric's... 'known friends and associates'," she says wryly.

Varric wanders in then, still a little grumpy looking. "Yeah, I got a name. Caravan guard from out of a village called Dindle. Small port village, survives on virtue of a good bay, a long dock and not being a city-state, with the resulting lower tariffs and such. Guy's name is Antonius, a half-elf with a scar over-"

"-his right eye," Aveline finishes, nodding. "He's been questioned but never charged a few times. Smuggling and fraud on behalf of the caravan he was contracted with. Not his goods, nor his wagons, so he was never really looked at hard, but... he has the feel of someone you should watch." She frowns. "Wouldn't have pegged him as a slaver, too... in the moment for something long-term like that, but... hired muscle for one? Yeah, that I can see easily."

Marian nods. "Makes sense. But he'll be able to tell us about his employers, specifically where they're hiding."

"Exactly. I can..." She pauses, glancing around. "How... how did you _want_ to handle this?" she asks carefully.

Marian bites off before she can say, _We kill them all_. She takes a deep breath, slipping her hand into Zevran's. "What's your usual procedure for... something like this?"

"Well... do you mean the process or results?" At Hawke's answer of 'both' she nods. ""Right. Well, normally I'd have to wade through a great deal of red-tape and parchment work... but that's not the important part. We would work our way up through the chain, much like you would, I suspect, just... slower. I know it can be frustrating, and there's a non-small chance that people will be able to flee," she admits. "That's... one thing I'm working on, given I'm stuck in an office these days anyway," she nearly growls. "Regardless, the process is probably much the same.

"As for results... slavery is very illegal. Nyra's highest crimes are long-term magical domination, summoning high level non-mortals outside a government summoning circle, fucking with Deep Scroll- and slavery and treason, the only non-magic related crimes that can earn capital punishment. Anyone proven to have run a slaver... business is put to death, no other punishment possible. Capturing people to be slaves, is either execution or life imprisonment, geas enforced. Selling or buying are the same, but more often imprisonment than execution. Being part of a slaver gang can vary. If it's shown you abused a slave, you're charged with capture even if you weren't present during the capture or directly responsible for keeping them held. Spotters, support staff- cooks, bookkeepers, medics, and so on- are usually given lighter sentences, but at least a few decades."

She pauses to clear her throat. "Basically, anyone involved that can't prove to an extreme degree that they were entirely ignorant of the nature of their work or were coerced via magical or mundane domination, is looking at at least two decades. And.... as slavery is a high crime, lethal force is allowed for anyone that does not surrender at once. Rules regarding combat conduct are not relaxed however."

Marian nods, some of the tension flowing out of her shoulders. "Good. So if we just so happen to round them up and you're there to collect them, we're not likely to run into trouble?"

"What I do on my own time reflects, but is not controlled by, the city," Aveline replies. "If I'm out with friends, and we happen to discover a group of slavers, well, it's nothing less than our civic duty to apprehend them."

Marian smirks. "Perfect." She shifts a little, as if about to get up. "Who's in? Just me and Varric?"

Merrill pouts a little at the shifting, but dutifully wiggles off. "Are we not coming?" she asks curiously, used to being invited along for healing.

"Ah, maybe you and Flirts should hang out here with Wynne, keep each other company," Varric says smoothly.

Marian nods. "I wouldn't want Zevran to get lonely," she adds, as she pushes her way up.

"Oh! Well, that would be bad," she agrees, wiggling back over so she can lay against Zevran's leg instead. "We can play more Wicked Grace," she suggest brightly, earning a whimper from her male lover.

"I am so very glad we do not play for coin, my absurdly lucky flower," he says with a sigh.

Merrill giggles, "me too. I like you owing me bedroom games. Particularly dress up. I'm working on a very pretty sundress--"

"Yeah, just us two, unless Isabela gets back to me sometime soon," Varric cuts in.

The guardswoman nods, then gives Marian a careful look. "... we could... I happen to know Carver is between jobs. As of last night at least," she half-suggests carefully.

"No." says Marian, her tone a bit dark.

"Okay," Aveline says after a moment. _Evidently the birthday truce is over..._ "So... just the four of us, if Isabela shows. She... was a knife wielder, correct? That would give us a mage, ranged support, a heavy and a light. I've worked with far worse group compositions," she muses.

"Oh stop, I'll blush," Varric deadpans.

Marian sighs. _I feel a bit dickish, but there's no way Carver won't freak on me if I start icing the place up._ "We'll manage."

"Worst comes to worst, we withdraw and call in guard reinforcements," Aveline says confidently.

~*~

Isabela only catches up to them after they've actually left Wynne's. She tosses off something about being 'distracted by things only Marian might appreciate in this group' in a slightly evasive and forced fashion. Still, they have more important matters to attend to and she's quickly brought in the loop. Twenty minutes later, they arrive at the tavern that Antonio is set up at in order to be accessible for the local help the slave hunters are trying to utilize.

"Alright, the barkeep says he's in the last room, the 'suite,'" Varric reports, rolling his eyes at the rather optimistic label. "Should be just him, but better safe than sorry," he adds before quickly mixing and downing a trio of infusions. Aveline nods, then focuses briefly to flare an invisible ward over the party. Well, the ward is invisible, her shield is glowing like the noon sun. "Ready?"

Marian nods, gripping her staff tightly. i>Be calm. Focus. You have work to do.

Varric glances at Aveline and coughs slightly. She gives him a flat stare, then huffs and turns around with her arms crossed as best she can while her blade and shield readied. Varric smirks, and quickly takes care of the lock. He waits a moment after, then whispers, "oh hey, the door is unlocked. We should check on him..."

"Just.... move out of the way, dwarf," Aveline growls, pushing the door open so she can stride in. Isabela is next in, flowing around their heavy like waves around a rock. As it turns out, Antonio is indeed alone, attempting to have a quiet meal while he looks over some paperwork. Seeing a group of armed figures, he instantly draws and throws a dagger at the third person in, but Hawke dodges and returns fire- well, cold- with an arcane snowball to the face.

Things go downhill rather rapidly for poor Antonio from there, culminating with him being pinned to the ground by the knee a lady in full plate. The crossbow bolt through his dominant hand probably isn't a banner event for him either, nor the frostburn on his face and right leg. Poor 'bela didn't even get a chance to attack.

Marian catches her breath, planting her staff on the ground once more. "So. Reconsidering your life choices yet?"

"How dare you!" he shouts, trying vainly to get out from underneath Aveline. "Who are you! I will have you arrested, flogged and locked in-"

"So that's a guard captain fusing your spine to the ground," Varric cuts in.

The mercenary is silent a beat, then, "so what? She will be fired first, then flogged and jailed. You come into my room and attack me? Fah!"

"Talk to us about your employer," says Marian, examining her nails. "How many slaves does he move a year, do you think? I hear the whole trade is very lucrative." There's a distinct chill in the room, but she seems to be holding it together.

A slight pause, almost undetectable. "What are you going on about, you dumb b-" he hisses as Aveline grinds her knee into his back. "Fuck! I'll laugh when you're kicked from the guard," he gasps out.

"Answer her question. Who are you working for?" she demands.

Antonio curses in goblin, then groans as she leans in some more. "Gods damn you all, I'm no slaver, that shit is sick. Owning people is a sin," he groans out, causing Aveline to frown and exchange a glance with Varric. He'd hesitated at first, but he also sounded honest there...

Marian walks over to him calmly, squatting beside the man's head. "About that." she says, her voice dark and flat. "You see, I have this friend. He's about my height. White hair. Dark skin. Tattoos." She reaches out with her frozen hand, placing the tip of her finger on his nose and letting the chill sink in -- a promise, not a threat.

Strangely, tellingly, he reacts the most to the words 'dark skin' more than anything else, even the last word. Well, okay, not more than the glowing finger resting on his nose. Even with his body pinned, he can still move his head a bit from where it's pressed onto the floor and he tries to take full advantage of that to move his head away from her. Fails at it, of course, given the circumstances, but he tries. Still. strange reaction.

"Know the guy, huh?" asks Marian. Her casual tone is marred by the undercurrent of menace. "Know what he's good at, too, I'd reckon."

"N-no idea who you're talking about," he tries to snarl back. "I'm working for a fucking bedding merchant. We don't touch slaves, they sell blankets and pillows, that sort of shit."

Aveline tries to catch Hawke's eye, mouth, 'a little more.'

"What's the sale, then, buy two pillows, get a bedwarmer free?" she growls. "Go ahead. Keep fucking with me." She leans in closer, whispering, "Push me."

"Fuck no," Antonio says, looking disgusted. "Shit, ain't you a guard, get this c-"

Cutting in, Varric suddenly asks, "So what, you're saying you've never touched slaving? So you've never heard of Zevan? Maybe in passing, maybe you worked with him? Old friend, old... more?"

"You sick fuck! I'd never fuck some beast!" he shouts wildly, clearing infuriated. There's an audible crack; the ground under the man is a solid sheet of slick ice, the wall behind Marian growing frost visibly as they watch. That's gotta be cold for the guy being pressed into it. "The hells is- stop her!" he demands wildly.

Aveline frowns, then looks over at Marian. "He's right, Hawke. You shouldn't damage the inn like that, Varric is going to have to pay off the barkeep now."

"Hey!"

"The fuck?!" Antonio curses some more for a moment or two before finally tiring out. "Fucking get off me already. Arrest me or let me go, I'm no slaver, I've never even heard of this Zevran shit you keep going on about."

"Ice melts," she growls, when Aveline chides her.

"Funny, I don't believe I said his name," she adds, when he's done ranting. Her tone is...lighter, but still flat and menacing rather than offhand and snarky.

"What, yes you- the dwarf did," he says, trying to keep his face off the ground, but that's very hard on his neck.

"Ah, well, I misspoke. Called him Zeven. Whoops."

Aveline grins. "That's enough, I think. Under my authority as Captain of the Guard, I am hereby giving myself permission to use divination magic in order to question you."

"What? No, you can't fucking do-" He cuts off abruptly as Aveline's Zone of Truth kicks in.

Hawke gives a feral grin. "Where's your boss, Tony?"

The next few minutes are not at all among the highlights in the life of 'Tony.' With few asides from Varric and Aveline, Hawke is able to draw out everything they need. It turns out that Tony has been hired by a slave hunter named Hadriana to serve as a local contact, as her rather notable appearance makes it hard for her to operate openly in anti-slaver cities. Hobgoblins do tend to stick out, especially when they have barbed wire laced into the skin of her scalp as if were some kind of naturally grown crown.

Hadriana has eight people with her: six of them are fighters, one is a medic (with a slant towards taking care of drugged patients) and the last Tony never met and just assumed is the cook and general help. The fighters are pretty basic, he's forced to admit, about his level, though they use nets and saps rather than daggers. Hadriana herself uses a whip, though she keeps a thorned whip for when she's pressed hard. No mention of any magic, aside from a very basic heal spell from the medic.

They also squeeze the location out of Tony, along with a key for the front door. That done, Aveline knocks him out and binds him. "Alright, what should we do? I can have a full raid set up by the day after tomorrow with what we've learned or we can handle this ourselves now, but that is a little risky with our numbers. We're likely better but numbers can tell..."

Varric frowns, then shrugs. "I figure it's worth at least taking a look. Kind of worried about that last unknown... Isabela, take a break from looting and chime in a bit," he calls out, having noticed the ex-pirate helping herself to a few odds and shiny ends.

Bela pouts. "I haven't found the good stuff yet," she says, tucking a pouch into her pocket as she straightens. "Though speaking of, going in ourselves does sound more lucrative."

"What? No, you can't just..." Aveline sighs. "At least leave anything that might be evidence. Or stolen or illegal to own," she says aggrieved. "But fine, if everyone is still up for it..."

The next hour is a blur- Varric, invisible scouts it out a little and reports back. Looks like most of the group, all but Hadriana, the medic and the unknown, are eating dinner in the first floor. The top floor looks empty, the stairs covered with unbroken dust, and the basement door is shut, locked and in sight of the main area where people are eating. So no idea what's down there. A quick discussion and they have a plan.

Varric and Isabela will go back in through the window in the rear of the house, and Marian and Aveline will enter in the front. Marian will kick things off with a Web spell while they're seated and unprepared, allowing the others to swarm them. Varric meanwhile, will cover the basement door, just in case Hadriana comes barging in. It's a good, solid plan. So of course Marian... improves it on the fly.

Instead of web, she finds herself so... distraught over the day's events that she ends up showering the room with a hail of frozen cherry sized orbs that litter the ground, some of them half melting, then freezing around her foes' feet. Still, the rest of the fight goes as planned. One of the fighters was already down, brained by her attack, while Aveline and 'bela swiftly subdues another each. The remaining three fall seconds after.

"So... that was new Hawke," Varric comments, still watching the door. It had been over fast enough, that if the floor was as thick as most are, they _might_ not have been noticed yet. _Might.. Maybe._

"Yup." Her tone comes out strained, a bit flat. _Get yourself under control, Hawke,_ she orders herself, silently. _No comments about Zevran's manhood are worth losing your cool in front of Aveline like that._

Aveline quickly checks over the slavers, then heads for the basement door, giving Mairan a quick squeeze on her shoulder as she goes. "They'd down, 'bela's are dead, the other three are just out," she reports, giving the corsair a thoughtful look. "Is anyone hurt?"

After a round of negatives answers, they form back up again and get ready to breach the basement. Isabela gets the lock this time so Varric can take a few more infusions, while Aveline prays softly, her shield seeming to grow more solid, more real in response. Aveline is first down this time, pushing herself just to get down and out of the way for the less armoured to follow. The basement is unfinished: dirt floor, coarse rock walls and only a few oil maps for lightning. Which is enough for them to see Hadriana, naked and whip in hand, standing over a dark-green skinned figure. There's also a human, head down and trying to read a book in the far corner.

"Who the fuck-" Hadriana screams, clearly not having heard the commotion upstairs and very upset about her 'fun' being interrupted.

Varric cuts her off with a bolt to the right leg, but she barely seems to notice. The medic is starting to rise, looking terrified, but the figure on the ground doesn't twitch.

Marian cuts off Hadriana with a scream of her own: a primal roar. The winter is ripped out of her; in an instant, the room fills with a sudden snowstorm, obscuring vision in a whirl of snow even as it slicks the ground with ice.

As the echoes of her scream fade, the basement is still. Too still. Not a further sound comes from within the icestorm; just the howling, fierce wind, sounding somehow distant despite its ferocity.

Marian wavers, wobbling on her feet a moment before she collapses. Isabela catches her, easing her back towards the steps as she kneels. "Woah. Easy there. It's alright. Let Aveline handle this."

Aveline meanwhile, is busy herself, albeit only briefly, cursing up a storm of her own. She is going to be having _words_ with Marian about using area spells on top of her squadmates. _At least it's non-damaging,_ she grumbles mentally as she slowly edges her way towards where she recalls last seeing the slaver bitch. _Very_ slowly, she corrects herself as she almost immediately wobbles.

Varric meanwhile pushes up next to Marian, saying curtly, "Cover the edge of the storm in case any of them run for it." _Damnit girl, why do you insist on doing this shit to me,_ he thinks, trying to bury worry with annoyance.

Isabela nods, letting Varric tend to Marian. _Casters.... who can understand them?_ she tells herself, doing much the same.

As Aveline makes her way forward, toward the slaver bitch, she realizes she doesn't need to worry. The woman is on her knees, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide with horror; the reason she's not screaming is that she's trying not to choke, as shimmering, sublimating liquid pours over her body from above. Her skin is bright red, already blackening into frostbite. Considering it to be a mercy at this point, Aveline quickly smites the hobgoblin until she falls, then moves on to investigate the prone figure. A few seconds later, the storm vanishes as quickly as it came, revealing the medic a few feet from Isabela.

Varric meanwhile, kneeling beside Marian. _Has she just over-taxed herself or... well. Worse._

Marian gives a soft little moan as the storm dissipates. "I'm... fine," she whimpers. "Tired."

"[Tying you to your bed for a _week_ when we get you home]," he grumbles.

"Please... don't," she gasps. For a moment, it seems she's actually worried, but-- "been.. bedridden... 'nuf... f'one year..."

"Then _stop getting hurt_ ," he counters.

"Is she alright?" Aveline calls back, voice tight, while still kneeling next to the two prone figures. Isabela twirls her daggers, waiting for the medic to make a move so she can dive in for an opening.

"Can't." Hawke mumbles. "Mage. Squishy."

"Bullshit. You wear armour, you're like a... rigid mage. Shut up, I don't do well when you're like this," he scolds her. Louder, "stupid but unhurt."

The medic recoils in fear, covering his head and sputtering random sounds. And... that acrid smell... wow, that's... special.

Isabela sighs. "I expect you'll want to surrender," she says, eyeing the man. "Talk to that one about it, yeah?" She inclines her head toward Aveline.

"Y-y-yeSS!" he yelps, stumbling back as he cranes his head around to where she gestured. Just in time for Aveline to hit him full in the face with her sword, dropping him instantly.

The paladin looks enraged, though she's trying very hard to control it. "Isabela, if you could find some rope." Her lips peel back in a savage grin. "Or chains," she adds, biting off each word.

Isabela quietly slips her dagger up her sleeve -- pretending she wasn't about to stick it in the man's back. Nope, totally playing it straight. She heads for the stairs, figuring she'll find something upstairs -- and get a minute to breathe.

Varric glances toward the guardswoman, his eyes flicking to the prone slave and naked slaver. "Fuck," he mutters softly.

"Yeah," says Marian weakly. "That."

~*~

Ten minutes later finds Marian and Varric outside, on the stoop in the front of the rented house. With everyone down, the other two ladies females were fine to bind and watch over the slavers- not like they're all that far anyway. They'd tried to be subtle about it, but the lack of.. urgency is rather telling in regards to the fate of the slave.

"You feeling better?" Varric asks softly.

Marian gives a small, tired nod -- though she has to lift her head from her hands to do it.

"That... little show down there. The ice storm and the... freezing liquid stuff. What... what that about? I didn't know you could do that last one? Or the first one, prior to this morning," he continues, trying to keep his voice low and gentle.

"Neither did I." She doesn't sound flat or dark anymore -- just weary.

"Kind of got that impression," he admits. "So... how'd it happen?"

"How's any of my magic happen? I get mad. It gets cold."

"Well, you normally have to... study your spells in the morning, just like I have to prep my vials. I mean... have you even... fah, I should let Wynne talk this out with you," he says. "I just... [worried about you, kid]."

Marian nods, giving him a tired smile. "[Worried about me too]." she says, slipping into Dwarven easily. "Everything's changing so fast. Can't things just stay simple?"

"Might be nice but... if things never changed, you'd never have met me. Or Moonbeam, Flirts... any of us. So. You wanna doze off for a bit, I can wake you when the guard arrive for clean-up," he offers, slipping an arm around her..

She yawns, giving a clear answer as she nestles up against him. "Things were simple when I met you. All the complicated stuff came later."

"Sleep is simple," he tells her. "You should give it a shot."

"Only if you keep watch," she mumbles, shifting to get comfortable, her eyes drifting closed.

"Always," he says softly as she drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you there'd be angst.


	13. Memento Mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes in the epic conclusion of The Magus.

It wasn't like they had a set appointment or anything, but Marian had somehow slipped into the habit of having lunch nearly ever Igniday with Brightness Seline. Conversation was usually rather light, just talking about their lives, about their families. It turns out that Seli is still a month or so away from birth; she's carrying twins, hence her impressive girth. Seli's husband Andy had just finished basic training for the guard a few weeks ago. Marian hadn't met him yet, but Lovan had made it to lunch with them twice. He was a quiet man, rather frail and delicate looking but with kind eyes and a great laugh.

Two weeks after Hadriana had faced winter's fury (and five days since she was executed, a grim faced and trembling Zevran watching with dark satisfaction) Marian is at their cafe, waiting for Seli to arrive. The priestess is usually first, as the cafe is only a few minutes walk from the temple, but it's already half past noon bell when the human arrives.

She looks as if she'd not slept well in days, her hair done in a loose, messy bun instead of her normal artful braid. She's moving slow and careful, even more than she normally does due to her burden. It's a familiar walk. It's how Marian and Carver looked when they fled Golden Shores. It's how Leandrea still walks today, when she's feeling more brooding than bitter.

Marian jumps out of her seat -- it's a foot and a half closer to Seli than the free chair, so she pulls it out for the woman -- and moves toward her. "Seli? What's happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Over the past few weeks, she's started to make a real shift in her wardrobe. She's not quite ready to get rid of the feminine look of the tunic-and-leggings, but her leggings have been growing thicker, more sturdy; today, they're tight leather pants, still with a tunic over them (belted at the waist) but otherwise very masculine. She's had her hair cut back to the usual boyish tangle, sticking up in places rather than letting it get long enough to grab in a fight.

Seline's face twists a little as she forces a smile. "I'm okay, Hawke, t-thank you," she says, her voice as even and warm as always. She gratefully takes the offered seat, continuing, "just.. a little r-rough patch, is all. How are you doing? Is your friend Minuet doing better?"

Despite her voice and words be normal, she'd started to cry almost as soon as Hawke started talking. A tear suddenly slides down her cheek rapidly and her hand flies up at the sensation. Staring at the wetness on her finger, she sags. "Damnit," she whispers angrily.

Marian reaches out for Seli's hand. "Hey, it's okay. You can cry if you need to. I-- if you don't want to talk, that's fine, but.."

Her tears continue to come as she grips Marian's hand tightly. "I- I just- I have to be there f-for Andy. He doesn't h-h-have anyone else n-n-now," she whispers brokenly. "S-s-strong for him. And and I-"

_He doesn't have -- oh, oh gods. Astea, no._ "Lovan," she whispers, scooting her chair around to pull Seli into a hug. "Gods, Seli, I--"

She starts to weep in earnest then, the wall she'd been putting up crumbling under Marian's hug. It's clear she's been holding on with increasingly desperate fervor for at least a few days now. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even try, she just falls apart.

Marian holds her close, rubbing her back gently, letting her cry it out. _The best thing I can do for her is to be strong, so she can be weak for a little while,_ she reasons, making small, soothing noises.

Seli finally cries herself out after five minutes or so, but continues to rest against Marian. "I... thank you," she whispers. "Ciren, I'm the one supposed to be supporting you..." she adds guiltily.

"Nonsense," she replies, softly. "We're friends. We can take turns."

Seli laughs wetly, then winces as a baby kicks. _I have to be strong, for Andy and the babes,_ her brain reminds her. This was... maybe a good thing, but she can't do this again. Pulling away enough to not be leaning over, she smiles faintly. "Your Clan is very lucky to have someone with your heart," she says after a deep breath.

Marian gives her a sad smile. "Thank you. I just hope I'm actually helping. Is there anything you need, anything I can do?"

"I... no, thank you," she says softly, eyes closing. "Andy... Andy has taken leave and he's... at home." _Broken, lost, alone and--_ "We're... stable, money wise." Her eyes open, a bitter, angry glint in them. "Lovan's," her jaw tenses, "boss was _kind_ enough to pay for L-Lovan's funeral expenses and a fair bit extra. As an _apology_ and _thanks_ for his years of service."

Marian is quiet for a moment, rubbing Seli's back. Then she asks, "What happened?"

"He- did we ever say, he was an architect? He- he works- work _ed_ for a subcontractor company, mostly hired for the city. It was... simple, quiet things. Mostly civil projects in Clearbrook and Meadow. Streets and utility tunnels, he... our Lovan had a knack for being able to... picture it all, all the layers and lines, so it fit," she explains with a sad, proud laugh. "But they- his company, they wanted to expand and- they got a job for Scrolls. Oh, they weren't ready for that, there's so much- they didn't even have a real sage, just a few dabblers. But it was so much money, they-" She leans against Marian again for a moment. "I don't... there was some.. conflict, with wards and the runes in the tunnel and... he was... "

Marian wraps her arm around Seli's shoulders, gives her a squeeze. "I understand. I'm so sorry."

Seli tenses, just a little, at Marian's 'I understand' but she doesn't say anything, just stares at the table.

"Do you..." she pauses, then swallows. "there's a tradition, or there was, in Golden Shores. When someone... passes... the community makes food, brings the family enough food that they can grieve without worrying about cooking. Would that... help?"

Seri glances at her, then shrugs listlessly. "I guess..." she replies, then shakes her head. _Passion, Comfort, Joy,_ she reminds herself. "Yes. I think... I think it would help Andy to be reminded that people still care," she says, her voice more alive this time. "He... he's had a painful life and... Lovan was his world."

Marian nods. "And you? What would help you?"

_Helping Andy is what I need right now_ , she thinks. _Andy and the babies, nothing else is important. Oh Lovan..._ Silently, she nods.

"Do you want distraction? I can talk about my stupid boring life if you want," she offers, gently.

_Yes I do. And I should make sure things are well for you. Make sure you're still comfortable with your Clan,_ Seli reminds herself. "You, boring?" she replies a touch slow, the humor still a little forced. "Hawke, your idea of a boring week is one with only one adventure and only threesomes instead of full-blown orgies."

"Hey! I've never had an orgy. Just a... uh... foursome..." She looks upward, trying to remember if she's ever hit five. _I don't think so. Just Zevvy, Bela, Merrill, and me..._

Seli gives her an amused look. "Hawke, that's an orgy. Most people never have a threesome their entire lives. And most of those that do, pay gold for it."

"It's not like it's hard." She protests. "Just find people like Bella and Minuet." She pauses, then blushes. "Okay, maybe there's not a lot of people quite like Bella or Minuet."

Seli gives her a 'you think' kind of look. "People with both their willingness to indulge and their character are few and far between. Much less ones willing to work for a p-" _Lovan. Andy. Lovan!_ "polyamorous, ummm, a poly relationship doubly so." She takes a deep breath, rubbing the swell of her belly.

"But we're talking about sex, just sex. That can't be hard to find. I mean, both of them have plenty of other partners." Her shrewd eyes take note of Seli's distress, but she keeps talking anyway. "Though I'm honestly surprised they get along as well as they do with each other."

"From your stories, I suspect they'd be friends but with a great deal more rivalry were it not for you," Seli agrees. "Unless they had another very good reason to trust or at least respect each other. But for you, they... worked past their probable need to compete or defend their... supremacy in their, ah, chosen field."

Marian nods. "It doesn't... feel like I'm the peacemaker. Lawful, for sure, I'm the peacemaker between her and some of the others, but not between Bella and Minuet."

"Given her deep-set nature and career, I imagine she does have a few... conflicts with the lifestyle you and the others have chosen. Adventurers are a vital part of our city and very necessary, but they- you- _are_ a disruptive influence," she says, a hint of teasing in her voice. Evidently her cry and now talking about something else are helping a bit. "Still, that's very good to hear, that you're not constantly being called on to play diplomat."

She nods again. "The situation with Red... that was exhausting. I don't think I could be with Lawful if I had to do that all the time. So I'm very glad too."

The priestess smiles gamely. "Yes, I imagine that would be far too taxing to maintain. How... how are you doing with that? With... ending things with Red?" Her voice trembles a little at the question, but she manages to not stammer or dither in her words.

"He's... coping. I visit, now and again. It's difficult, but... I'm starting to see the man he should have been come back. It's... good to see."

Seli frowns slightly, reaching out to take her hand. "I... I know you love you. Did and will at that. But be careful about... even if he recovers, becomes that man, there will always be... scars between you. Be very careful about how you... try to connect," she say slowly. "I... I've seen and heard about a great many abusive relationships, with and without outright violence. They can be seductive. And even if the abuser gets helps, becomes... better, trying to renew old relationships can sometimes invoke old habits, old... failings."

"[Like being stabbed in the gut with a sword]," she mumbles in Dwarven, giving a rueful smile before switching back to common. "Yeah. I know. It's... hard. I keep reminding myself what he did, how we can't go backward."

"Good. And being his friend, is good as well," she says firmly. "He'll need you. To... get better, to learn to move on, move forward." _Move on..._

Marian nods. "I hope I'm not making it worse, reminding him."

Seli considers this, then shrugs. "It's possible, certainly, but you mentioned he was at Summerhill, correct? Then if it was a problem, I'm sure his healers would have stepped in. I've been hearing nothing but good about the place, aside from the normal grumblings about mind-healing being a waste or a soft option," she adds with a sneer.

Marian nods. "I just don't want this to turn into another Carver situation." she adds, morosely.

"Carver... situation?" she asks slowly. "Interesting nickname choice, though it makes me somewhat concerned coming up in that manner," she adds.

Hawke winces. "Ah, sorry, that's not-- Carver's my brother. I'm used to my friends already knowing about my family, since pretty much everyone looks me up after they meet me. He uh... He blames me for our sister's death." Her voice goes softer on this last sentence. "We've never really been family since."

Seli giggles as 'looks me up' but they die fast at 'sister's death.' Tears begin to flow again, unnoticed, and she shifts to offer an ungainly hug. "Oh Marian," she says softly.

Marian nestles up to her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..." She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "I don't think about Bethany when I can help it. She was... She deserved better from me."

"I s-suspect most p-people feel that way, when they l-lose a loved one," Seli manages. "B-but we should... try and recall the g-good times."

Marian nods. "Do you know," she says, her tone quiet and curious. "She had the same magic as me, but stronger? She would have been amazing, if she had lived."

"I'm sure... she would think you're amazing as well," she whispers, tears still falling without real notice. "What... what's one of your favorite m-memories of her?"

Marian smiles. "For my sixteenth birthday, she brought me a bouquet. Now, most kids -- she was younger -- would have just picked some random wildflowers. But Bethany was so conscientious, she actually... she roamed all over the countryside, picking just the right flowers. All light blues and whites. A big, full bouquet. She even tied it with a ribbon she saved up to buy."

"That sounds lovely," Seli says wistfully. "I'm an only child. My parents were very old to be having children when I was born- my mother was the younger at forty and three."

Marian nods. "My mother.... is best not touched on. My father was never around; when I was really small, he'd visit every year or two with presents, but then he stopped coming around. Carver was going to find him, last I heard."

"Are you... interested in that? In finding, meeting, your father?" she asks gently.

She shrugs. "I already have a father."

"Ah. Grumpy, wasn't it?" Seli asks, amused as always by the name, always so fondly said, even if that fondness is paired at times with frustration or hurt. "Have the two of you- you and Grumpy- talked about Carver's quest?"

Hawke laughs, bitterly. "We talk about Carver all the time. But... I haven't brought up anything about my father."

"Perhaps you should, just to be sure there's no... misunderstood feelings," she suggests.

"Perhaps," she says, quietly. "But... Grumpy knows how I feel about him. And he knows how I love, how there's always room for more. So... I don't think there's a problem"

Seli nods. "Probably not, but I've rarely heard of a time when putting voice to thoughts caused a problem. Exposed a problem yes, but not really cause one. And better now, during a time of your choosing, then when it bursts of its own accord."

Marian's heart clutches in her chest -- _What if something happened to Varric and you weren't sure he knew?_ "Yeah," she whispers. "I should talk to him. Just in case."

Seli's eyes are sad and knowing. "Just in case," she echoes softly.

~*~

Normally, coming in this early in the morning meant that Aveline had the training area to herself. Maybe there'd be one or two other recruits, desperate for more practice or unable to sleep, but most days she was the first one in. She expected a nice, quiet arena, with free weights, a sparring pit, several practice dummies, and boffer weapons of all shapes and sizes, weighted like the real thing but blunted or padded depending on the type. The equipment was all there, familiar as usual, but the arena was far from quiet. The rhythm of padding hitting padding was rapid, loud, and increasing in speed and intensity: someone was going all out, laying a beating into the padded dummy. Working off stress? Trying to push their limits?

As she gets settled, the sound stops abruptly; there's a different sound, something more like flesh hitting the rough stone walls of the basement, and then, more worrying, a muffled, half-swallowed sob.

_Oh demonspit_ , she thinks to herself. Is it so much to want a simple morning, a scant half hour to just... focus on her forms, maybe lift a little? She smiles then, a little amused at herself. Inner grumbling or not, she's already moving towards the noise, already putting on her face as the professional but concerned Captain. Whoever it is will probably be more mortified or even angry that she of all guards -- _political appointee/cold and stern/probably his Mistress/practically an archon with tits_ \-- is the one to stumble on this but she'll do her duty, serve her calling and... and maybe she can help. She's trying more, doing better at... connecting to people, thanks to--

"Hawke? Carver?" she asks as she spots the dark haired man leaning against the wall.

She sees the transformation come over him abruptly: he straightens, drawing himself up to his full, almost-grown height, his back stiffening, shoulders straightening. He rubs at his face, trying to disguise the action of wiping away tears, and turns to face her. Taking in her outfit, he says, "Captain," in a gruff tone. A moment later, his eyes widen as he recognizes her face.

"Aveline," she says after only a second's pause. "Shift's not started yet so... Aveline, please," she says, trying to soften her tone despite her instinctive attempt to have it be crisp and authoritative. She hesitates a moment, then moves closer. "Do... what's wrong?" she finally says. her words a compromise of 'do you want to talk' and 'report your concern.'

Carver shakes his head. "It's nothing. I'm merely.. I was just trying to..." He gestures at the practice dummy helplessly with his free hand, the boffer still in his right hand. It's a greatsword, of course; or it would be if it wasn't merely a metal stick with padding on it.

"Your hands are bleeding," she says simply, eyes flicking to the small cuts and scrapes from where he'd been punching the wall. She doesn't mention the sob, nor the tears, aloud but her gaze returning to his face is.. very expressive.

"Had worse. I'll live." He takes a deep breath. "How's Marian?"

_Warm. Loving. Sweet. And her **hands** , bless Ciren, her hands..._ "W-well," she says quickly. "Marian is fine. I'm... concerned about you and your sudden need to practice bareknuckle combat." _Not thinking about last night, about Marian's hands on her bare chest for the first time, about-- Vangal, give me focus! Carver, Marian's brother, right in front of her. Clearly distraught._ "Is... is your mother alright?"

Carver's expression darkens. "Mother is... mother." he says, obliquely. "She's as good as she ever gets," he adds, a moment later.

So not that. "A job go south then?" she asks carefully, her newly gained 'be careful what you ask' habits kicking in. Wait... job... wasn't Carver doing something personal lately? Some kind of personal goal or... job or something? Something...about... dammit, what was it?

"No." He growls. "Mother needed this and that, and then there was that big storm, and I ended up not being able to go. It's just as well. Now that I know the truth, there's no point searching."

Right something about Goldengreen, an elf that- "Your father," she says aloud, then winces. "Sorry, I just... just remembered what you've been working on," she explains awkwardly. _The truth? What does that mean? Doesn't sound like he's dead..._

Carver's face twitches, his hand clenching into a fist. "Yes," he bites off. "My so-called father."

Aveline winces. "I.. I'm sorry for..." For what? "Being so blunt," she finishes after a moment. "I... it helps, to talk about things," she half-offers.

"Does it?" he asks, scowling. "I suppose I'll feel better if I tell you my father was a scumbag who abandoned his family for not being pure enough? That's going to make this okay?"

_For not being--_ her eyes flick up to Carver's round ears, without the slight taper of Hawke's. "Make it okay? No. Your father seems like a right asshole. But that's not your failing, that's his. You're a good man. You honor your word, you fulfill your contracts with efficiency and dedication. You're a good blade in a fight and a disciplined one as well. You work to improve yourself, both on your own hard work and by listening to the lessons of others. If he can't see the value in that, then..." She quirks a half smile. "Fuck'em."

Carver's face registers surprise, then a particular wary yet pleased look -- the same look she's seen sometimes on Marian's face when she's about to refuse a compliment. "It's rare someone has compliments for a swordsman like me. Everyone seems infatuated with magic in this city."

"I might call on Vangal's grace to help me, but the bulk of my own ability is born from sweat and muscle," she replies with a shrug. "Magic is damned handy, but there's much to be said for good solid metal. And neither of them matter as much as the character of the one that wields them."

He smiles then -- a shy smile, the smile of a boy not yet confident in the strength of his own arm. "And you're friends with my sister? I'm shocked."

"Courting her as well," she says, with just a touch of warning. "And she's pretty good with a staff. Which is a... tolerable weapon," she adds with the slight disdain of someone who wields a proper, bladed, weapon. "Probably on par, or maybe just a little under, Guardsman Tevio's skill level. but with less force in her blows" Said guard being one of the people Aveline has seen Carver spar with more than once. Carver would judge Tevio as behind him by a bit, with a significant margin in Carver's favor in regards to wins and losses.

Carver's face darkens, but he blinks in surprise when Aveline trashes his sister's combat abilities. "Of course. She's a mage. She wouldn't do a day's work with her muscles if it killed her."

Aveline purses her lips. "...like a human couldn't be graceful if it killed him?" she asks gently. Without waiting for an answer, she steps forward, hand extended. "Let me take a look at those hands. The last thing a swordsman needs is an infection to take hold of their hands. Or microfractures in the bones."

His expression darkens again, but he lets her take his hand. "I know I'll never be as-- I get it. Marian's the golden one, daddy's favorite. Everyone knows that."

"...is the hilt or the blade more important?" she asks as she looks over his hands. "People might notice the blade more often," she acknowledges. "But without the hilt, it's useless. Which isn't to say that- I mean. [Slag and stone] I'm bad at this. I just mean... you both have value. Different skills, different... whatever, but that doesn't mean one of you has to be better than the other. Just... be you. From what I've seen, you is something you can be proud of being." She pauses, wondering if any of that made sense.

Carver's face softens, a little, as she speaks. "Thanks," he says after she finishes. "...I think." He rubs at the back of his neck. "[Shit], I just wanted... It would have been nice, you know? To have a real family again." Carver's curse comes out in Elven, with the air of a naughty schoolboy, rather than Aveline's more stern Dwarven curse.

"I do," she says quietly. A pause. "I was engaged once. It's.. not the same, I would think, as losing a sibling, a twin no less. Or... never having a parent. But I know how it feels to bury a loved one, to... have to..." A deep breath. "Get back up and start walking again." She takes another breath. "I don't think anything is broken, but you'll need to clean and dress these cuts twice a day. Unless you want me to..." She gestures towards her holy symbol.

Carver shakes his head. "It's a lesson I need to learn -- walls are stronger than me, still." He sighs, looking down at his bandaged hand. "...She would have loved Nyra," he says, quietly. "She never wanted magic, but I think she'd have loved the streetlights, the hot water. Instead, it's just me here, and I can't wait to leave. How's that for irony?"

"Walls are stronger than most hands, yes," she says dryly, then sighs before stepping back. "I think you need to... to remember what you would love. To... live for you. I'd never suggest you abandon your family," she says quickly, firmly. "Bonds of blood are precious and severing that is a hard and terrible step. But... it's okay to... step away. Make your own place."

Carver nods, slowly. "It's hard. What can I do? I'm the only one Mother has, there's no real time for me."

"Has she... does she... ever go out? Try and met people. Charity work, or... prayer service," she suggests slowly.

"She hadn't, for a long time. But I convinced her to go to a... a support group. I think it's helping, actually."

"That's good! That's good," she repeats. "If that... takes. maybe you can convince her to go out... I don't long, maybe come with you when you go to the market or whatnot." She pauses and adds, "and I can... talk to Marian, see if... if she can visit more often as well, to help you."

Carver gives a sad smile. "She never will. But thank you, for offering. And for..." He gestures with his bandaged hand. "You're really not that bad. For one of Marian's friends."

She gives him a chiding look, but smiles anyway. "You deserve help," she says simply. "...fancy a light spar or do you want to keep at the bag?"

"A spar would be just the thing," he agrees.

~*~

That afternoon, as Aveline walks the streets of Aurora ( _what a joke, making rounds in Aurora_ ), her mind wanders back to Carver and Marian. There has to be something she can do, something that will help them find a happy ending.

Something like...

...

Is she being followed?

Aveline is admittedly not the most innately adept at spotting such things, but she has a great deal of experience. Pausing a moment, she turns to face a small corner cafe, one of the few service or retail places allowed in Aurora-- because Heavens forbid a noble has to travel out of Old Nyra just to have a bite to eat with their friends, in a way that allows them to be Seen and Noticed, of course. She makes as if considering stopping in to have a quick bite, glancing up a the sun to judge the time, glancing at the store, and shifting around a little to give herself a reason to look around subtly.

The solid white pupil-less eyes peeking around the corner of a building opposite are lower to the ground than she expected. The child has short midnight-blue hair, draped just to the top of the shoulders in a style that could apply equally to a boy or a girl; their clothes are no help, consisting as they do of a button-down shirt with a high collar and lace around the cuffs, and a pair of dark trousers which might be a sign of a rowdy girl unused to dresses or a young boy who prefers lace. Their skin is a paler shade of blue, like crystal, or wind solidified.

_Hmmm. A bit too well dressed for a child living on the street. Possibly a noble's servant's child. Or a minor or less fussy noble child that's run off from their nanny or tutor?_ She glances up at the sky one more time, then shakes her head, before heading off back the way she came. She tries not to glance over at the child again, but carefully relaxes her posture, to make herself seem more approachable. She'll try to get the child to approach her, but if he or she doesn't call out after she's walked by, she'll make the first move.

Weirdly, the child doesn't call out or duck back into hiding; instead, they fall into step beside Aveline, as if trying not to impose on her daily routine. "Hello." Their voice is that high, childish voice that all prepubescent children have, lending no clarity to the age or gender of the child other than "young".

"Hello." Aveline replies, trying to match the casual tone, though she does glance down at the waif with a small smile. "Can I be of assistance, citizen?"

"This one hopes so, guardswoman." The child looks somber, serious, as they look up at Avaline. "What can you tell this one about the circumstances under which you obtained your current rank?"

Aveline comes to a stop, turning to study the child closer. "That... is a rather unusual question... young one. What's your name?"

"In this incarnation, I am called Helene," says the child. "And you are Aveline Vallen, guard captain for Aurora. I am quite certain of this, as you match within ninety per cent of the description I have been given."

_Okay... wait. Incarnation? Blue skin and old eyes..._ "You're... samsaran-- and likely older than I am. My apologies if I gave offence, Helene," she says politely, nodding a little. "And yes, I am Captain Vallen." The Samsaran race is unusual in that they are not only long-lived, but also reincarnate at the end of their natural lifespan: rather than die properly, they seclude themselves somewhere, and then return in a new body, as a young child, with little memory of their past life but a similar personality. This Helene is likely a recent reincarnation, possibly on a mission left over from their past life -- such things are oft spoke of in Bard's tales, which implies little about their accuracy.

"Now that pleasantries have been observed, I wish to return to my prior line of investigation. It may be quite important." Helene's tone remains mild, not particularly annoyed.

"Line of investigation? What exactly do you want to know about my... career? And why?" Aveline asks, frowning slightly. She's.. not unaware that her promotion was highly political; far from it. And she's not particularly thrilled to be discussing it with a stranger.

"It interests me," the child begins, counting on their fingers. "It is tied into several other lines of inquiry I am pursuing, I do not yet have the answers I seek, and it may be important. Were it not for this last point, I would not have approached you so directly."

"..." Aveline studies the... person in front of her for a long moment. "I think that perhaps we should find somewhere to talk more privately. If you have noticed something that might be important, you're not the only one that needs to know about it."

Helene nods. "As you wish. Though I must disclose that this one has perfect short-term recall and intend to write the entirety of this conversation in my journals for long-term storage. I hope this is an acceptable arrangement."

Aveline curves her eyebrow, then nods. "It would not have had you not told me, but yes, it is. Thank you." She flicks her gaze of the samsaran's clothes and appearance. "There was a cafe just a bit back, we should be able to get a table there, if that suits you. Or we can go back to the station, if you don't mind the extra walk."

"The cafe is acceptable." The child pauses, then, in the most mortal expression Aveline's seen the child make, gives a small, rueful smile. "This one may have forgotten to ingest nutrients again."

"I... know a few people that do that sometimes," Aveline says gravely. She starts to reach down to take Helene's hand to guide her but manages to stop the gesture before it fully forms. "After you then."

Helene leads the way back to the cafe, ignoring Aveline's small gaffe. It's strange -- as the child walks, Aveline can't seem to see them as anything but a child. A precocious child, a child with the eyes of an old person, but not in that way that elves seem to be caught in the middle, in-between years between early childhood and adulthood for years on end. Definitely near the beginning of this reincarnation cycle, then. Perhaps 30 years old at most? For a samsaran, who in the most literal sense lives centuries and in the poetic sense is immortal, merely a drop in the bucket.

After ordering some sandwiches and chilled juice, the pair settle in. "So, what exactly are you looking into?" she asks crisply.

"Your career has spanned a total of three thousand, five hundred, and twenty-seven days," Helene recites. "In that time you have earned three promotions, all appropriately spaced. You are in the bottom quartile for infractions and disciplinary actions, but you are in the 60th percentile for arrests, and your career trajectory lies within acceptable tolerances for a guard of your physical build and drive. At best, you are above average. And yet, you have been promoted to Captain abnormally quickly. Why is that?"

Aveline gives a series of long, slow blinks. That's... all data that could be found by a civilian, for the most part. Her infractions, citations and arrest records shouldn't be available as stated numbers anywhere, but if you tracked down all of the legal paperwork that referenced her, you could probably get a really, really close number. Which would take a significant amount of time and a very through understanding of how to do research. Still, it's not... an issue, per se, just very strange.

After a moment, she finally replies, "politics. I'm a native-born Nyran, attractive without being overly feminine, not attached to any scandals and have a solid record... as you noted. Add in my being sworn to Vangal so strongly, I... have the right image for what the nobles with influence wanted to be wearing Captain rank right now." Her jaw twitches. "All I can do about it is prove I can fulfil the role earlier than... the norm."

Helene nods, looking at Aveline's face, as if expecting more. After a moment, when it's clear Aveine is done speaking, Helene leans forward, studying the woman's face. And... really studying. Is Helene.... staring into Aveline's soul? It's hard to tell where they're looking, given the lack of pupils. The intensity of that gaze...

Aveline stares back, keeping her face impassive and slightly stern. She's telling the truth, as far as Helene can tell. Though there is a little... something about the paladin, a sense of purpose not often found in people. Still... it's not any more than she's seen before in people. A person of importance, one who will impact the world and fate, but perhaps not quite a Legend herself.

Helene nods. "I understand," they say, sitting back and letting the intensity of their gaze fade. "This one will now proceed to ask a series of clarifying questions?" Wait, that's a question?

"...I have some more time, so if you were asking if I would permit that, you may ask a few. I will not promise to answer, but you may ask." she says after a moment, wondering what that stare was about. Her Captain ring blocks mind reading and many divination spells but that was still strange.

Helene nods. "This one understands, and acquiesces."

Normal people would break out pen and paper here, but not Helene -- they just stare, unblinking, into Aveline's face. "What is your favorite color?"

"Silver."

Helene listens to the answer impassively, before rattling off the next question: "What color best describes you?"

"Sil...ver?" Aveline looks confused.

"If you could live anywhere on Aldis, what kind of environment would it be?"

"Urban?"

"If you could be any animal, but must become non-sentient, what would it be?"

Aveline's face twists through a series of expressions. "Never considered that before... I suppose... Mabari are probably borderline sentient so... a wolf?"

"Have you ever dreamed you were something other than what you are?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"A... probably various things?"

"Have you ever had a vision of divine origin?"

"Not... as a visual hallucination?"

This catches Helene's interest. "A hallucination of what sort?"

"What? No, I- I meant I've never had a.. vision. I just... sometimes I- well, I'm a paladin. It's not uncommon to get... nudged from time to time," she says, a little flustered by the questions -- and also by the slight reference to the night in the alleyway. "What was the point of all these questions? What were you trying to determine?"

"I have determined that you are not likely to be the figure I was searching for." Helene sounds.. a little sad, actually. "I am now attempting to categorize you for the purposes of future visions."

"Future... do you.. often have visions?" Aveline asks after a moment, studying the young... girll? It's very hard to tell- she's almost certain samsarans aren't monogendered like outsiders but...

"I do." Helene sits back a little, folding their hands together.

"From... do you know where they're from or how you get them?" she asks carefully.

"They are from Alydra, due to my unusual blessings. I am what they call an Oracle." Helene reaches up to their throat, pulling out a small silver chain with the nebula starfield that is Alydra's holy symbol dangling from it, previously having been tucked into the lace at their collar.

"I see... that's a rather difficult burden for one so..." A pause, as a long forgotten story slowly rises from her memory. She studies Helene again, this time looking for... "May I know how old you are, Bright Helene?"

Helene smiles, looking oddly pleased. "I have been in this form for one hundred fifty seven years. I was Dakesh prior to that point."

"I... see," the paladin says, eyes a little wide. She thinks a moment, then asks, "are you a local? Have you bee in Nyra long?"

"I have resided primarily in Nyra for one hundred twenty four years." replies Helene.

_Okay then, she's probably already set up. Still, wouldn't hurt to check her file and be sure._ "Thank you for answering that. May I ask what you do with your visions?"

"Primarily, I catalogue them, and attempt to decode them. My speciality lies in the collection, cross-referencing, and distribution of information, so when Alydra sends me a vision, it is often a sign that information must be transmitted to a particular individual, group, or thematic element. Other visions often herald an event that I am meant to collect data about, or to explain after the fact."

Aveline nods slowly. "Would you be willing to... send a copy- even just a summary- of your visions to the guard when they happen?"

"Not in all cases. What would influence your desire for a copy of a particular vision?"

"Any danger to Nyra as a whole or to her citizens," Aveline replies promptly. "To a lesser but still significant extent, any warning or indication of a major disaster or negative incident."

"Understood. I believe such an event will occur within the next six months." Helene nods.

"... could you tell me more about that?" Aveline asks, her voice allowing just a hint of frustration into it.

"Not much." Helene closes their eyes, falling into the easy cadence of a bard or other storyteller.

"The night is dark  
the moon hides her face  
the wind blows, calling, calling

The blood runs red  
The smiles never falter  
the soon-dead chanting, chanting

The city burns  
the dead rise  
the living screaming, screaming."

Aveline stares a moment, then yanks out a pad of paper and a graphite writing toll. "...moon hides... calling, calling... the..." She looks up. "The smiles- what came after that? Could you repeat it from 'the smiles?'"

After hearing it again, Aveline finishes recording it, then rereads it. "...do you have any idea what it means?"

"Some. But I prefer to keep conjecture to myself." Helene nods. "You are not the person meant to hear my warning. So, I must find that person. Have a pleasant day." Sure enough, they seem to be standing up.

"Wait! Please, wait a moment- can- where can I find you? Get in contact with you, if... something about this comes up?" Aveline asks rapidly, rising as well.

"If you find the person I'm looking for, my lodgings are in Coalside, on Tannery Row." Helene keeps walking, not looking back.

Aveline stares a moment, then shakes her head. "Thank you for the... tip, you're welcome for the answers and have a good day Bright Helene," she calls after her- them? a touch pointedly.

Helene stops, turning, and gives an elaborate bow. "Have a good day, Captain Vallan."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a point of pride, Marian carries the heavy stewpot. Zevran's arms are laden with corn-bead and pie, but Marian refuses to let him carry all the food she made for Seli and... Andy? Andy.

"Again, I only used a psuedonym with her, so I don't know if she'll even bring anything up. So just be nice. Okay?" Marian looks at the door they're approaching with dismay -- both her arms are full, so knocking is going to be a problem.

Zevran flashes a smile, pivots and uses his heel to knock rather adroitly. A few moments later and Seli opens the door, looking much the same as she had at their last lunch. She stares a moment at Marian, as Zevran has moved out of the way, then smiles faintly. "I... honestly wasn't expecting... thank you Hawke," she says softly. "Oh, ah, please come in," she adds, looking a little flustered and... embarrassed?

Marian smiles. "Of course I came. Is this okay?" She does come in when invited, looking for a place to put the stewpot so she can give Seli a hug. "Oh, this is my friend Zevran."

The house is... dark. None of the lamps are lit and the windows are all shuttered. There's several days' worth of dishes in the sink visible from the living room and it smells a touch musty. Under all that, the place looks nice, but it's pretty clear that things are not going well right now. Seli herself is wearing a dressing gown, hastily tied and her hair is loose and messy. As Marian looks around, she notices Seli trying to stack a few bowls just laying on a nearby table but giving up.

"You can just... set that down here," she says softly. "I... I wasn't expecting-"

Zevran sets his own burden down, then slips over to snatch up her hand. Pressing a kiss to it, he offers a dazzling smile. "My bon faucon has told me much about you, and I am very pleased to finally met the one that has helped her find certainty in her path. As she has said, I am Zevran the Astoundingly Fanciable. Charmed, no?"

Seri stares a moment, then bursts into laughter. Marian hides a smile behind her hand. "As I said -- Zevran." In truth, she hadn't done this before; her mother had, but she'd always been sent to play with the other children while these visits were taking place. Looking around, she can see why. She wouldn't want to bring a kid into such a situation, not if there was sunshine to play in. "Here, let me just-- have you eaten? Are you hungry?" she begins, collecting the bowls.

"Oh, you don't- no, but- you shouldn't..." Seli protests weakly, then sags a little. "I... didn't notice how bad..." she says softly, looking around again. _Has it really only been a week? How could it get this bad so fast..._

"Please, Hawke likes to mother and comfort, let her; for my sake, if naught else," he adds in a faux-whisper. "Come, sit with me and talk a while," he urges her, tucking his arm into hers. She gives Hawke a somewhat perplexed but also amused look as she's deftly herded off.

Marian places her trust in Zevran, and gets to work. She scrubs the dishes as fast as she can, opening some of the windows and giving the place a quick dusting. _Probably no time to get fresh flowers in, but it'll help at least. Poor Seli..._

"Who wants stew?" she asks, cheerily, coming over toward the pair again. Seli is laughing too hard to answer when she comes back to the living room- based on how Zevran is holding his hands, he's telling that story about the gnomes and the halibut again- but she nods weakly.

"Just some bread for me, my faucon talentueux. Taste-testing your stew has still left me rather full," he explains with a wink. "But I assure you, it was no hardship."

As Marian serves, Seli gets a hold of herself. Looking much less distraught, she catches Hawke's eye and offers a heartfelt smile.

Marian smiles broadly at Seli, handing her the bowl of stew and some cornbread. "Isn't Zevran the best storyteller? I swear, I've heard that one a hundred times, but it still gets me."

"Oh, I am but a pebble, resting in the shadow of the small but broad mountain that is your father," Zevran says dismissively.

"Well, you are a wonderful storyteller nevertheless, Zevran," she informs him with a smile. One that falters slightly as she notices that Marian had brought out four sets of dishes. "Ah... Andy is..." she glances at the bedroom. _He's not really... fit for guests but... I also can't remember when last he ate a full meal. Or smiled like I just have. Like I did the last time I spoke with Hawke. Maybe..._ but then she winces, as another thought occurs. _Marian is a wonderful person but... sometimes people have... blind spots. And... Andy couldn't... he just couldn't right now._

"Oh, is he home? I can check on him if you want." She smiles, benignly, pretending not to notice she'd grabbed four. "Back in a sec," she says cheerily, moving to go knock on Andy's door.

"Hawke! Wait, don't- " She half rises, then winces as her neglected and swollen body rebels at the sudden movement. "Andy... I just... before- let me wake him?" she almost pleads, then bites her lip. "And.." She lifts her head, and squares her shoulders before giving a protective, almost defiant look. "Before- before I wake him. Andy is a Tiefling. Will that be an issue?"

Behind her, Zevran adopts an almost amused expression as he gives Hawke a loving smile. Marian's smile, by contrast, freezes in place. "Of course not," she squeaks, but it's clear her voice is strained, not quite so carefree as it was a moment ago. _He's mostly human, right? Just a little bit of demon. A wee, tiny bit. Barely any bloodthirsty monster._

Zevran blinks a little, then his eyes widen. "I am half-drow," Zevran says softly, causing Seli to look away from Marian. "Hawke has never once looked at me with disgust, hatred or fear."

Seli nods slightly, but it's clear she's still wary and a little upset by her friend's reaction. Zevran smiles, then looks at Marian questionly, silently asking if she wishes to speak of her sister. Or if she would like him to do so.

Marian shakes her head, snapping out of her frozen smile. "No, Seli, it's-- it's really alright. I was just.. taken off guard." She takes a deep breath, and a real, though smaller, smile appears. "Really. I know you wouldn't-- if you're vouching for him, then I can trust that."

"I... why do I need to have vouched for him?" she asks, still a little tense. She... honestly hadn't expected Hawke to react this way, had just been worried out of, well, habit.

"I-- I told you about Bethany, I think?" Hawke asks, quietly. "I get... twitchy, around sceleratii." She'd learned the proper umbrella term for demons, devils, and daemons during her magic education, but tended to slip back to the country habit of calling them all 'demons' when she's not paying close attention.

_That's... that's rather more understand than most answers I've ever gotten,_ thinks the priestess. "I... I'm glad I warned you then," she says carefully. "Andy... Andy has not had an easy life because of his maternal parentage. He doesn't need that now of all times. Lovan... Lovan was the first person to see Andy for Andy. Losing him..." She swallows.

Marian nods. "Thank you for warning me. I promise, I won't-- I won't say anything to him about it. It's... I know that he's not really a sceleratis. He doesn't deserve my fear."

Zevran smiles, pleased with how well Marian is dealing with her fear. "I am unbothered. Now, if he were a giant spider, I might have to excuse myself, but tieflings do not bother me. In fact," he smiles, a long, slow affair that invokes thoughts of sunrises seen from a bed, "I once had a very good friend, a lovely tiefling lad who could do things with his tail..." Caught off guard, Seli nods knowningly, then blushes deeply.

Marian shakes her head, grinning. "Zevran." she says, with a teasing air.

"Right now?" he asks, voice clear overfilled with eagerness. "I do rather enjoy an audience. Or better, audience participation."

Seli flushes some more, then gives him a chiding look. "I'm afraid I'm too far along for any of that sort of fun," she chides him, stroking her belly. "But... thank you for the compliment," she adds softly.

" _And_ ," stresses Marian. "That's not why we're here." _Though... I never did think about tails..._

"I thought we were here to visit and come with friends?" he asks innocently.

Seli snorts. "I suspect she said 'become friends' you scoundrel."

Zevran pretends to think that over. "I prefer my version, but perhaps yours is more accurate," he allows.

Shaking her head, Seli rises to her feet and slowly waddles towards the bedroom. "This... might take a few minutes," she warns them before slipping into the room.

Marian nods, keeping her smile in place until Seli vanishes. Only then does she let some of the sick feeling in her stomach show on her face as she turns to Zevran, moving to him in a few quick steps and bundling herself into a hug. _Zevran's here. You're stronger now. Andy's not a threat. Nothing's going to happen._

Zevran holds her close, stroking her from shoulder blade to the curve of her bottom. "[It is alright, my love,]" he says softly in Elven. "[Your fear is... while not rational, per se, entirely reasonable. And you know this. Accept and admit it. You can face your fear, acknowledge it, and discard it for your friend. And for yourself. You are so wonderful, my love. I know you can do this.]"

"[Thank you]," she whispers burrowing her head against his chest. "[On the bright side, we can be less worried about me summoning demons. I'd probably wet myself]."

"And you have found perhaps one of the few kinks I do not enjoy," he mutters. "Too strong a scent, you see. But you will be well, I assure you." And... perhaps they should arrange with a mage to face illusions of demons in a controlled setting, just in case she must ever face one in true combat. He would also suggest fighting spell-summoned demons and devils, but even for combat training, even if only summoned with a spell instead of a ritual, he suspects his love would... strongly disapprove.

Probably with an ice storm.

After letting her cuddle for a minute, he tips her head back to kiss her softly. "It sounds as if he is awake," he comments, having heard a second voice. He doesn't mind being walked in on like this, but thinks perhaps Hawke might. Or perhaps... "Shall we greet them nude?" he offers brightly. "It's a very good icebreaker."

Marian laughs, pulling free and planting a kiss on his lips. "Behave," she argues as she pulls back, turning toward Andy's room.

"I have pants on," he protests with mock hurt. He does come up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist, And yes, laying his hand on her hip rather intimately, but that's entirely normal for him.

It's another minute or so before Seli exits the room, though she leaves it partially open. "He's up..." she says slowly, looking worried. "But.. not really... all there," she warns them softly, silently begging them to not judge him too harshly.

Marian nods. "That's fine. It's entirely understandable to be... shaken, at this point."

Andy finally shuffles from the bedroom clad in a wrinkled silk robe. His face is tilted to the ground and his posture is hunched, pained. His long hair, a soft, almost floral pink, is messy and yet unknotted or tangled. It covers much of his face, but not the small twin bone crests on each temple. They're not large, perhaps the size of a hand, tapering backwards from his temple towards his ears, with a blunt point and ridged markings going longwise. They match his coloring rather nicely, being a soft whitish-grey, with his pale pink hair and lightly tanned skin.

His features and build are both slight, a slim, almost but not quite delicate frame with a fair bit of wiry muscle showing on his arms as they wrap around his waist. He is... honestly, rather pretty, despite the ravages of grief visible on him. In fact, the signs almost seem to enhance his looks, giving him a tortured look that combines with his beauty to make one with to comfort him. Naked.

"Andy, this is my friend Hawke," Seli says gently, touching his upper arm. "And her lover Zevran."

Marian stares for a few seconds longer than she means to. Abstractly, she's glad she has no 'dragon' of her own -- it would be wildly inappropriate to reveal the degree to which she finds this man attractive. _Ciren bless him._ "Hi Andy," she manages, shaking her head a bit. "I brought stew, are you hungry?"

Andy doesn't seem to have noticed her stare, but based on the soft snicker from behind her and the startled, then amused look in front of her, the other two very much did.

"It is freshly made this morning. I cannot claim to have helped directly, but i did taste test it. Without even having to have been asked, no less," Zevran offers with a grin.

Andy glances up at them, gaze lingering on Zevran for a second before a look of self-loathing flashes across his face. Head down again, he mumbles something that is hello shaped. Looking concerned again, Seli gently guides him to the table to seat. "Eat just a little, Andy, please. For me?" she tries to coax him.

Marian frowns slightly. _What was that about?_ She doesn't ask; she just dishes up a bowl of stew, tops it with some cornbread, and offers Andy a spoon. "Oh definitely eat. You'll feel more yourself with a full stomach." She keeps her voice upbeat, cheery. _I will not let anyone Seli loves become like Mother._

It takes a little more work, but he does eventually eat. And one he starts, he devours the first bowl, then the second that Zevran slips in place when he's draining a glass of water. Seli looks... both pleased and ashamed, but manages to mostly hide the later. "Lovan mentioned you," he says abruptly when he's down a third of his second bowl. He's staring at Marian, which allows her to see his bright blue irises- and slitted pupils. "He- he said you made Seli smile. Made him laugh...." Gaze dropping, he whispers, "thank you for that."

Marian reaches out to pat the back of his hand. "Of course. I take care of " _my own. Fuck, we're gonna have to talk about this._ " -- the people I care about." _Gods be damned, heart, can you maybe not love everyone who smiles at you?_

Zevran is watching Seli but glances over at Marian's slight hesitation. _Hmmmm._

Andy starts a little at the touch, looking up at her with a bit of shock. He tilts his head slightly, almost aiming a horn at her, as if to be sure she can see them.

"At times, I wonder if I should be trying harder to induct you into the priesthood," Seli comments lightly, but also a touch seriously.

"Does it pay?" she asks, with a small laugh. "I've done just about every other odd job in this city at least once." She keeps contact, gently rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.

"A small, mostly token amount, but yes," she says with amusement. "Well, token amount of coin, the other rewards are... much higher."

Andy continues to send glances at her, trying to read Marian's expression to figure out what she's thinking.

"I must confess, I am also very intrigued," Zevran says brightly. "For either of us. Both of us. All four of us. Wait, sorry, I got distracted. My adorable faucon would be a wonderful agent of Ciren.

Marian laughs. "I probably fuck enough, right?" she jokes. "Between you and bela alone, not to mention everyone else."

Seli gives Hawke a chiding look. "Being one of His is about far more than that, as you well know," she says sternly.

Andy chuckles, the sounds a little rusty and weak, but still possessing real mirth. "Done it now, miss," he says softly. "The whole "Cirenites are all sluts and whores' is one of our Seili's pet peeves."

"Astea save me, not Seli's wrath!" cries Marian, in mock-terror.

Seli pouts a little, then wags a finger at Marian. "I can be wrathful if I want to... when I'm not so bloated and huge, at least," she adds with a rueful glance down. Andy smiles faintly, then sighs as his mind wanders back to the father of said children.

"Might I request to watch said wrath? We haven't tried spanking yet," Zevran says with a playful leer at Marian.

Marian blushes. "I was telling Seli the other day, I've only had a foursome so far. If we're going to get into it, I'd want to summon at least one more, just for the record-setting."

"Which is still higher than most. Andy and I have... our record is three and that was more two and two really," Seli says, voice growing sad near the end. Before the two widows can drift too far away, they're yanked back.

"Thirty-eight," Zevran says in a fondly reminiscent tone.

" **How**?" cries Marian. "How do you even fit in a bed? In a single room?! Did you have a whole house of fuckery?"

"We rented a restaurant," he explains in a way that just raises more questions.

"...did they know beforehand?" Andy asks, also staring with dumbfounded disbelief.

"The staff? No. Then again, neither did we. It started as a simple celebration and just... kind of evolved. The staff were certainly aware by the end of it," the elf says brightly.

Marian rubs her forehead. "I'm glad I don't let you plan parties for me. Can you imagine if Carver was invited to _that_ sort of party?" She pauses, than adds, "Nobody's allowed to fuck him, by the way."

"You are too late, no? 'bela slept with him before you. And I still hold hope in my heart," her lover replies, hand covering his chest as he stares up at the sky with a look of exaltation.

"[Have you checked if he's an avatar of Ciren]?" Andy asks softly in Draconic, leaning over to Seli, who swats his arm.

"[My wicked warrior is a divine all his own, sadly]," replies Marian, before switching back to Common. _It's polite to let people know you understand them, right?_ "Anyway, no sleeping with him now. We all know what he's capable of."

"It is self-defense! If I let him stab me with his sword than perhaps he will not stab me with his blade," Zevran explains patiently.

Andy blinks slowly. "Is he... speaking in jest or...?"

Marian giggles. "You're so bad!" she laughs, shaking her head as she turns back to Andy. "No, he means it -- if Carver was willing, they'd have fucked already. Carver is my brother, you see. I'd rather not share a lover as wonderful as Zevran with him, but I can hardly cage my [wicked warrior] even if I wanted to. Thankfully, Carver's not interested."

"Yet," Zevran says quickly, holding up a finger. "It is notable that he has not actually asked me to stop, merely complained and blustered when I flirt with him."

"It doesn't bother you? That he... would do such with your sibling?" Andy asks curiously. "You seem... against it, but only mildly."

"It does, but only because my sibling is Carver." She makes a face. "But it doesn't bother me when he's with Bela or anything."

"It certainly doesn't when I am with Merrill," Zevran, then grins ."Or perhaps I should say, it does, but the best kind of bothered."

Andy smiles faintly, giving Seli a fond look. "Seli is much the same- she does not touch, but she very much enjoys watching Lo-" His face falls and he breaks off as his eyes close in remembered pain.

"Andy," Seli murmurs, reaching over to stroke his cheek.

Marian makes a sympathetic noise. "I've never tried watching, without being part of it," she says, after a moment. "Is it fun?"

"It... it can be. I usually... end up joining in, after Andy is.. finished. Or sometimes I would, ah," she blushes a little.

"Practice private prayer?" Zevran suggests, which gets a small, almost bashful nod.

"Lo-lovan enjoyed... he enjoyed watching her by herself while we were together. Or having me watch them," Andy says a little hoarsely. "He was- he was our heart, our center."

Marian nods, slowly. "I will definitely have to try that," she says, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Zevran, do you remember that one time I got up to get a drink while we were with Merrill?"

"I recall more clearly when I did the same and met your father in the hallway, nude and smiling," Zevran replies after a moment. "Me, not your father. Although..."

Marian shakes her head. "This is why he bought that wand," she groans. "If you ever go after him, please don't tell me?"

Zevran smiles faintly, reaches over to run his fingers in her hair. "I enjoy teasing him, but no, I do not truly intend to make such a play. Wynne, yes, but not he. As nice as his features and build might be, he simply does not... have any draw for me. Which is rather strange, I must admit."

She leans against his hand, cuddling up to the touch. "I'm sure he loves you too," she purrs.

"I think he is simply pleased I have not stabbed you," Zevran replies. "Well, other than with my-"

"You were telling a story, Hawke?" Seli cuts in.

"I was?" she asks, then blinks. "Oh! Right. When I came back, it was... interesting to watch you go to work on Merrill."

"Of course I was," Zevran says instantly. "When was this?"

"As I said, that one time with the three of us when I needed a drink, after I, ah... my throat was sore," she admits, with a bit of a blush. "I was saying how I might like to try watching intentionally sometime."

Zevran is clearly trying to recall this specific incident but eventually shrugs. "I would certainly not be amiss at playing more games. Merrill would happily play as well, particularly if you let her come up with more costumes. She's working on some guard uniforms for when Lady Lawful finally gives in," he adds.

Andy blinks, clearly picturing Zevran in a guard uniform, and flushes slightly.

Marian laughs. "I don't think she'll want to -- it'd be like work for her."

"But she could finally arrest you! Some chains, a deep, intense bout of questioning and then- your punishment," he says, voice deepening to a slow, throbbing purr. "And of course, you're such a naughty, wicked girl, you'd try to escape. Perhaps turn the tables a little... tie her down with her own bindings and get your revenge?"

Andy, Seli, and Marian are now _all_ looking a little flushed. Okay, a lot flushed.

"I seem to recall this story ending with ice in reality," Marian adds, trying to keep up the banter.

"Ah, but this time... she knows how to make you _melt_ ," he replies.

"Okay, so, umm, how is- how is the other thing we're talking about? You mentioned something about a infestation of oozes or something in eastern Blossom? How did that turn out?" Seli asks, fanning herself slightly.

_**Not** sexy_ , Hawke thinks, but allows the topic change. "Oh, that went well. So, there was that alchemist lab, right..."

~*~

The afternoon flies by at that point, with stories and stew both welcome by the grieving couple. Marian encourages Seli to get out of the house more, find a support group maybe, and Seli promises. The pair agree to meet back up in a week, and after a lengthy hug, part ways.

~*~

A few weeks go by in this manner. Marian brings Zevran back a few times, and Seli seems to be adjusting better now that she's talking to people and getting out there.

Zevran, meanwhile, agrees to help Isabela take care of a few... things. As he walks out of the warehouse in Coalside, however, he spies someone hiding on the other side of the street, watching intently. The warehouse is a burned-out husk, still not rebuilt from before the fire wards were in place; the pure white eyes he's seeing in the dark shadows across the narrow road would have been able to see quite a bit of the fight. Unless they just got here? Putting on his best 'just out for a stroll and my aren't I charming' face, he ambles over to the figure with a light whistle on his lips... and some broken bits of packing crate hidden in his hands. So who is this lurkabout?

It's... a child?

A blue-skinned child with dark hair, perfectly androgynous. The child sits on a stoop, tucked back into the shadowy bits, hidden from people who can't see in the dark. The child watches with piercing, soulful eyes -- eyes that have seen too much, eyes without pupils, eyes that seem to know what he is and what he did. The child wears pinstripes: a vest and slacks, with a dark shirt underneath, better for blending in in the nighttime.

"Well, 'ello luv," he says with a wave. "Bit of a place for a youngling like yourself to be taking a walk," he comments, trying to play off things. "You lost then?"

The child shakes their head. "Did you kill them? Castillo's men?"

Zevran blinks. _Castillo's men? Strangely informed, this one..._ "Killed? Bit of a thing to say to a stranger, isn't it?" he deflects, trying to buy time, trying to figure out what... her? angle is.

The child seems to peer deeply into his soul, unblinking and unflinching. "This one is no guardsman."

Another blink. "Ah... little unclear on that one- do you mean me or you? Or both of us?" he asks with a frown. And possibly a teeny tiny bit insulted at the even potential indication that he's a guard. Not that he doesn't like the guard, exactly, just... for other people, that.

"Both is the most accurate, but this one was speaking of themself."

Zevran nods. "Alright then- quick check. The plural thing, that a... personal quirk or are you hosting more than one mind in that rather nice shade of blue head of yours?" _Please no possessed child, please no possessed child..._

"This one is not speaking in the plural. Common does not contain precise enough language, such as the term [gender-neutral-self] or [gender-neutral-self], so a clumsy substitution was made." The first term is in Celestial, the second Abyssal; sometimes that would be a hint as to the speaker's moral tendencies, but with both in a row like that, they're more likely to be a student of languages than anything else.

"...so not more than one person, just likes that pronoun. I have met stranger people with stranger quirks," Zevran decides. "It was very nice meeting you, my blue skinned friend, but I have something of a date and must be off."

Briefly, the child looks alarmed. "First, may I ask you questions? It may prevent a great catastrophe if you are the one for whom I seek."

Zevran does pause. _That sounds like a scam, honestly, but why not?_ "Perhaps a game? Question for question then?"

"Agreed. But I haven't much time. I will begin, of necessity, with the most important question: If you were to be confined to the shape of a non-sentient animal, what animal best represents you?"

"A rooster," he says instantly.

Their face falls somewhat. "Understood. Your question."

"...who are you?" he asks, staring at her/him/it.

"In this incarnation I am known as Helene. In my previous incarnation I was known as Dakesh. In what biome or environment are you most at home?"

"..is a bedroom a biome?" he wonders. "If not, then... perhaps... a city? Maybe a nice beach?"

Helene nods. "Understood." And waits for the question.

"What is this all about exactly?" he asks, still kind of wondering what a biome is.

"I am an Oracle of Alydra. I am attempting to find the person to whom I must deliver the message. Would you describe yourself as a hero?"

"Oh certainly not, if you wish for a hero, you'd want to ask my faucon heroique," he replies with a chuckle.

Helene jolts at that. They open their mouth to speak; then, closes it again, swallows. "Understood."

"....why did you react so strongly to that?" he demands, suddenly very alert again.

"I have... my dream. I believe you may know the person for whom I seek. Tell me, is this faucon a person? Can I meet them?"

"Yes. And why- what do you want to do to mon faucon should you met?" he demands protectively.

"I would deliver a message to them that may change the course of fate. Can I meet them?"

"No, but I would be willing to deliver this message," he says firmly, posture still tense and edging towards aggressive.

"It's long; can you remember it all? It's very important. If this faucon is the raptor from my dream, they have to be warned." Helene's eyes pierce into his own, searching for truth in his eyes.

"I can read and write," he says dryly.

"Oh! Of course. Wait here." Helene ducks back into the shadows a moment, kneeling at a small satchel. They dig in the satchel for a few moments, coming out with a stoppered vial of ink, a quill, and a bound notebook, from which they carefully remove a single page. These things they bring to Zevran, offering them timidly.

Zevran takes a second to look it over- no obvious powders or oils on it- and then takes it. "And this is all? You merely wish me to write down your message and give it to- the hawk you dreamed of?"

They nod. "Please. I am willing to answer additional questions about the vision, but only from the raptor. Hawk? The hawk. Are you prepared to dictate?"

"When you're ready, just only a few words at a time," he cautions her.

They nod, closing their eyes at last. When they speak, it's slowly, but it's in a cadence of a storyteller; on a rhythm, with a poetic cadence, and a detached, recitation voice.

"A falcon flees  
through icy skies  
At the hour of sunset  
Everyone dies

"The falcon dashed  
Gainst broken stone  
The winter prevails  
But never atones

"The falcon falls  
bloody and broken  
The dead lie still;  
a hero awoken"

"...where did this little.. poem come from?" the elf asks quietly after the little urchin falls quiet.

Helene opens their eyes. "My visions. I believe it is tied to an apocalyptic recurring vision I have been having for several moons."

_So... Alydra. Wonderful._ "I see. And what... kind of apocalyptic thing is going to happen?" _The dead lie still._ "Undead of some form?"

"I believe so. I see many deaths. It would be inconvenient if thousands of people died."

"You're a bit different, aren't you? Beyond the whole vision thing," he says dryly, still glancing at the page in his hand frequently.

"Many have expressed such before."

"Right. Well. Anything else then? Any more hints, warnings or other such things to pass on?" he asks a bit tightly.

Helene shakes their head. "I can be found on Tannary Row, if the hawk wishes to speak with me. Have a pleasant evening."

"I rather doubt it but sure. Off with you now," he says neutrally.

Helene gives a bow, and, after taking the ink back and tucking it into the satchel, goes along their way, feeling considerably lighter.

As they leave, Isabela comes sauntering up to Zevran. "What was that about?"

"...I'm not sure yet," he says after a moment. "Trouble, I suspect, but... hopefully trouble that can be... headed off."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seli finally wears Marian down. After telling her and telling her about how great Memento Mori is, how it's life-changing, how Marian would get a lot out of it, Marian has finally agreed to come to a session. It is, she gathers, an important session: Seli has been told that it's a great night for newcomers, as they are going to do a double-length session for the new moon. Apparently whatever happened in these sessions was strictly confidential, so Marian would have to go in blind -- not something she was looking forward to.

On a lark, she talks Aveline into coming with. After all, Aveline has been through the grieving process before. She might be able to fairly assess the situation and let Marian know if this is normal.

The meeting is held in an old temple of Mileen -- not the one Marian is familiar with, where they'd held services for Bethany, but a larger one, with more room for gathering. This isn't an official gathering, but the temple clerics had allowed this group to use the space. At first, it seemed like a party; there was punch, some sort of apple cider with spices mulled in, and social mingling.

And there are a lot of people here. Something like 40 or 50 individuals mulled around sipping punch and making smalltalk. Which is fine, or whatever. Marian can mingle. She totally isn't nervous or anything.

"So, when's this ritual begin?" she asks one of the people she's just met. Joan? Joanan? Something like that?

"Oh, right at sunset. That's the best time, you know."

"There's a best time?" wonders Marian, squinting at the light coming through the window.

"Mm-hmm."

~*~

A few minutes before sunset, they are ushered into the basement, which was once a large empty storeroom. There are benches on risers, in the round, so everyone can see the central area, where an altar has been set up with the customary flowers and candles for the dead.

_What kind of support group is this?_ wonders Marian, as she took her seat.

She finds out soon enough. An unassuming young man takes to the center, dressed in long, dark robes. "Welcome, everyone. Especially our newcomers, welcome, very welcome. Nice to see you. I am Johan Edwardson, I will be facilitating this event tonight."

He smiles, a charming smile. "For those of you who are new, let me remind you that this group is subject to utmost confidentiality. The things you see and hear tonight are not to be repeated outside these hallowed walls. This is for the privacy of all parties. We speak openly and freely here. There are no lies among the dead."

"Now. Let us begin. For tonight's demonstration, because there are so many of you, I have only the most urgent messages for those gathered tonight." At the murmuring in the crowd, he holds up a hand. "Never fear! There will be time for all. All of you will have your heart's desire." He grins. "In fact, it will happen very soon."

"But, first! The spirits are restless tonight; they are full of messages for the living. Where is Seline Frane? Ah, yes, my beautiful Seline." He smiles at Seline, who is seated in the front row; she had gotten separated from Marian and Aveline.

"Seline, you lost a husband, correct?" He doesn't wait for a reply. "I sense you were close. Very close." He moves back and forth across the open space, head tilted, as though he is listening to something far away, something only he can hear. "You are still in mourning. You are conflicted, about the child you bear, and the loss you suffered. It is hard. He knows this, Seline. He sees your suffering, and he forgives you. He does not blame you for your part in his death. He wants you to know that."

Aveline frowns a little, glancing at Hawke. She's been having little... twinges, all night. Little things, things that whisper unease at her. Some of it she understands: the closed nature of the agenda, the distance of newcomers to anyone that knows details, the pageantry and pomp, even the air of this... Edwardson. No title, either, she'd noted. As he talked, it got worse.

"Didn't you say she was having twins?" she murmurs, eyes narrow as she sees Seline begin to sob. She'd glanced at their records -- of course -- when Hawke first broached this, and had gotten a fairly good impression of her and Andy. Good record that one, if not overly impressive. Only demerits were for a single scuffle that was determined to excessive self-defense and, near the very end of his training, missing the graduation ceremony. But given the reason, she honestly doesn't blame him in the slightest. And also that his superior is a raging asshole for blackening his record for such a thing.

Seli covers her face in her hands, trying to stop the tears. "I- I..." For what she'd done? Her part? What... she hadn't been anywhere near, hadn't anything to do with... She'd been worried about expenses, not being able to work and two children on the way. Had... had Lovan ignored concerns about the job, maybe not argued against it as much, because of... "Oh Lovan, I'm- I'm so sorry," she cries softly

Johan was some distance from her when she said that; he can't have heard, and yet, "His name, begins with an L... I'm sensing it's similar to the word Love? He wants you to remember that he loved you, more than anything on this earth. That he would do anything to protect his family. That he's so sorry he had to leave you. Seline, he wants you to never forget the time you shared together."

Marian nods, frowning. _This doesn't feel right. This doesn't feel right at all._

Johan moves on, then, to the next spirit message -- and the next, and the next. Apparently, this is what they do at this group: they pass messages from spirits to the audience and, sometimes, from the audience to the spirits, though Johan emphasizes over and over that they know, they see and hear what you do, they want to be with you when they can. That Mileen tells them how much suffering the loved ones on Aldis are undergoing, and that their hearts cry out to comfort their grieving relatives.

Finally, he pauses, looking up into the crowd. "I'm getting a message -- is there... did someone lose a little girl? Her name, it begins with a B-- Bethany? Is Bethany's mother here?"

Marian lets out an audible gasp.

"Hawke this is _wrong_ ," Aveline says softly, eyes hard as steel. "No Quiet would ever do a service like this," she says urgently. "The dead are supposed to be allowed to rest, not... dragged back to pass on gossip and this-this flim-flam bullshit. He's just guessing, maybe using a mind-reading spell to know what to say after his first cast." She's leaned over to make sure no-one else can hear her talk, but she never takes her eyes off this... charlatan.

Marian nods, but she presses a hand to her mouth. _This is wrong. This is so wrong. Mother..._

Because now, she's seen Leandra. The woman is sitting across from them. She's dressed all in dark grey, with a veil over her eyes -- just like when she was in deep mourning, years ago. She's already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief as she raises her hand to signal.

"Bethany's mother." he repeats, turning around to spy Leandra. His back was to her, but he turns as if he had seen her lift her hand. "Bethany wants you to know that she's alright. She's doing okay. There's no more pain. She worries, you know. She worries about her poor, sweet, ailing mother. She would have wanted you to be taken care of. But she knows, there's no way to fill that empty place in your heart. She understands."

A pause, then: "She wants you to know she forgives you, Leandra. She would come home if she could, but since she can't, she forgives you. She wishes her sister would come home again. She knows you miss having all your children at home. She would have stayed, while the others left."

Marian tightens a fist on Aveline's leggings, clutching at the fabric tightly.

"That's enough," Aveline says firmly, no longer worrying about keeping her voice down. She's not... yet... drawing her blade or anything, but she is _damn_ close. "The dead don't fucking watch us, they are at _rest_."

Johan breaks off, turning around to face him as there's a general hiss among the crowd. Some even boo; he holds up a hand, and they are silenced. He looks at her for a moment.

"Who did you lose?" he asks, his voice more tender, but still projecting to her. "I sense a close loved one, but from long ago. Not a recent loss."

"I'm almost thirty. Of course I've lost people by now," she says dryly."And I've made my peace with it. Can you guess a name? A race? How about my relation to them?" She's slipping into interrogation mode now, trying to bait him into slipping up just as she had done with Hawke and Varric against Antonio.

He holds up both hands. "Alright, alright. I can see you don't want to reach across the veil. I won't pry. What we do here, it is voluntary. It is to help those who are lost find closure, not to force anyone against their beliefs."

"On that note, friends, I will announce a brief recession while we set up for the second half of tonight's demonstration. Please, remain seated. Though, if you do not wish to participate, you may go, of course." He smiles, outreaching his hands in supplication. "I hope to see you shortly."

AS he leaves, people start talking amongst themselves, an excited, energized whisper.

Marian murmurs, "Get Andy out of here. I'm going to talk to Mother."

Aveline studies Marian for a moment, then, "just promise you'll not go back with her. After that little.. display of Edwardson's, she's likely to try and guilt you to it."

"Of course. [Stabbed in the gut with a sword], and all that. I'm going to try to talk her and Seli into leaving though. I don't like this -- talking with the dead on a new moon night?" She shakes her head, even as she starts to head down the risers.

Aveline nods, then frowns. "I'll... grab Andy and drag him and Seline out. You deal with your mother, I'll... get them." _What is..._ something is bothering her, something about what Hawke just said. _Something... old but still... damnit, this is going to annoy me all night now..._

Marian heads across the room to sit by Leandra, speaking with the woman quietly. As Aveline speaks with Seli and Andy, she can't help but catch -- people are lighting candles around the edges of the room, as if preparing for the second half. The altar's accoutrements are changing too: staff are changing out the flowers and candles for other ones, laying out small vials, lighting incense, generally setting up for something more overtly magical.

_Magical..._

_Oh no._

"The smiles never falter, the soon-dead chanting, chanting," she murmurs to herself.

"Andy," she says softly, voice ringing with command. The tiefling, a raw cadet just out of basic and deep into nearly a month of bereavement leave, snaps upright, heels clicking together. "Get your wife out of here. Now. Find a temple, a main one, for her to hide in. Then run as fast you possibly can to the Lost Grove on Vine Street in Lily and Oak. Shout for Varric and Merrill, don't worry about being discreet. Get them here **now**."

He doesn't ask questions, he just grabs Seli's arm and starts hauling her from the building.

_Now. Where did Hawke go,_ she thinks as she unslings her shield from her back.

Just as Andy gets out of the room, Johan enters, and the doors are shut. "Friends, are you prepared for tonight's main event?" There's a small roar of applause.

"No," Aveline mutters, circling the room towards Hawke as she casts a few defensive spells and abilities as discreetly as she can.

"Tonight," he begins, and the applause dies down.

"Friends. Tonight. I am so pleased, I am so happy to have all of you here with me. Tonight, we're in for something special. I've been hinting to you for month that I had something special in mind, and tonight... tonight, I am proud to announce: I am bringing back the dead. All of you, all of your loved ones, will be here, with you, in this room, before midnight."

The applause returns, a standing ovation within seconds.

_Oh sweet mother. Oh Vangal, my Shield and Guide. Grant me the courage to face this. Lend skill to my blade and certainty to my shield. Please, my Lord Vangal, give me the strength I need to stand as protection for these poor fuckwits._

_And most of all, please let me keep my Marian alive. Please._

~*~

Marian was in danger. Varric ran.

Varric, and Merrill burst into the front doors of the temple of Mileen, the temple he'd never been in or heard of anyone going to before. The temple that probably didn't actually belong to Mileen, not if something this dire were happening inside. The cultists inside the temple aimed to prevent them from entering and disrupting whatever was going on -- and, for whatever reason, they were ready for a fight, illegal weapons out and armor on. Luckily, Bianca was with him always, and Merrill didn't need a weapon to fight.

Neither, unfortunately, do the incorporeal undead they summon. Shadows and wraiths are a bitch to fight; they're immune to Varric's poisons and even his arrows seem to struggle to damage them. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but getting Marian out. He chugs infusions, does what damage he can, and keeps moving.

~*~

Aveline fights. At first, she's fighting against a couple assistants who tried to restrain her when she attempted to disturb the proceedings. Johan assured his base that Aveline was merely overcome, that there was nothing to worry about. But when the chanting starts, and some of the incorporeal spirits that serve Edwardson begin to manifest enough to fight back against Aveline and Marian, some of the followers waver, move to help Aveline.

The chanting grows louder. The crowd is full of enraptured smiles, people swaying in unison as they chant.

_The smiles never falter._

Marian makes the call: get the door open, get out. They shoulder the doors, slamming into them, trying to get them open. A few minutes later, the door opens seemingly of its own accord: Merrill stands on the other side, bloody and fatigued, having wrestled the bar off the door.

They usher as many people as they can out of the room as the chanting reaches a fever pitch. But it's not good enough. Marian watches in horror as a few people keel over where they stand, blood burbling from their lips, pouring from their eyes.

None of the chanters seem to notice. Many have their eyes closed, enraptured, waiting.

Satisfied that Merrill, Bob and Marian are getting the civilians out, Aveline turns back to the ritualist. As a paladin, she is by fair the most suited to deal with undead in combat. She had tried, near the start of the combat, to use her Challenge Evil prayer to force him to stop and face her, but the villain had decided to suffer the minor but dogged feeling of unease and shame instead of halting the ritual. Still, perhaps it had been enough to reduce its effectiveness, perhaps slow him down a touch.

Thanks to her Divinely Blessed Bond with her shield, she's in no real danger from the undead. Empowered to defend her most effectively against undead and proof even against those with flesh, it was well able to protect her. However, her blade's enchantment is equally useless against the undead, though it serves well to allow her to strike with full strength and yet leave the duped or enspelled humans alive. She is making progress, but... so slow.

_At least Marian is helping people get out. At least she's heading towards Clan, and hopefully safety. I'm not sure what this ritual circle is doing, but I suspect even our vitality won't be able to resist it forever. If I fail... then at least Marian will live. Will be able to gather help and try and reverse the effects. Gods, Marian, if this is... please don't become me. Please remember you have others who love you, others who will grow to love you. Wesley, I'm sorry, but please wait a little longer. Please forgive me for wanting you to wait, for wanting more time with Marian._

~*~

Merrill.. is growing concerned. She's going to be running out of lightning rather soon, her first casting only have a single bolt left and the other not much better. Much of her spells just aren't that good against undead. Sure, she pop them with a sling bullet but really that's not much better than harsh words. At least her hexes make them.. weaker...

_Thank the Heavens for Bob, really. If it wasn't for him, I'd be almost useless in this fight. If I can even really take any credit for his help. I mean, sure, he's my familiar and all, but he's still not me. I need to learn more, be able to do more. I can't be this useless for Hawke again. This is the third time I've failed her, not been able to really do anything of value, let her down. Not again. I'll find a way to be more for her. There will not be a fourth._

~*~

Across the room, nearer the door, Varric has met up with Marian and is trying to find out what the _fuck_ is going on between shooting at fucking undead fucks and fucks fucking with undead. And also trying to herd frightened morons out of a clear death trap. As Marian tries to convince one particularly confused elderly man, that no, this is not how Speak-With-Dead nor Raise-Dead work and yes, he should get the fuck out of here, she's sure, Varric spots Aveline. The paladin is pinned down and beset on all sides a mere twenty feet from the the ritualist.

_If I can distract some of the undead, give her an opening to get to the dust-eating shitstain..._ His eyes flick around the ritual room, trying to find cover or a free space to duck into where he can get to work without being swarmed himself. _Well... shit. Alright, how about... there. It's only... mostly filled with undead. Rust and fracture, this is going to suck. Still, I can't very well leave Lady Lawful to fight all alone, now can I? She's Clan too now after all._

~*~

With Varric's cover and Bob's blast, Merrill and Varric make their way into the central chamber. Merrill keeps her back to the wall near the door, trying to keep the exit clear as battered and confused cultists start making their way out. Not all of them. Not even that many. But some. Enough. Each of them leaving is a life saved, as more and more of the people drop to the floor, dying, dead.

Sacrificed.

Varric, instead of staying with Merrill where it's safer for a ranged combatant, plunges into the thick of things. Johan is well guarded, and Aveline beset from all sides; Varric moves in, seemingly heedless of the danger to himself, to give her cover and help her get free. _Not her. Me. Focus on me, you grimy soot-eaters._

And Marian...

Of course Marian's across the room. Of course she's up in the stands, trying to snap people out of it, trying to get them to wake up. Trying to save her mother.

They all know the moment Leandra drops. They're each concerned with their own battles, without time to keep an eye on the woman who -- honestly -- doesn't deserve their Marian's forgiveness. But they know the exact moment. It's the moment the room goes cold as the grave, the moment the wind picks up and the frost forms under their feet.

A large double-door opens. A monster emerges -- all bones and tatters of flesh, glowing red eyes. A humanoid, twenty feet tall -- probably a hill giant in life. Something too big to ignore.

Johan's skin is starting to pale, from a tan to a deathly white. They can see on the table before him a small chest, inlaid with gold and runes. Marian swallows, stepping backward as she creeps toward Varric's position, using the distraction of the giant's entrance to get close enough to speak with him.

"We could just run," she offers.

Varric snorts softly. _At the hour of sunset, Everyone dies_ "No Hawke, we really couldn't," he says softly. "I might've three years ago but... not now. Besides, think of the story I can make from this," he adds before quickly mixing up a infusion. This... This is going to suck. Hard. He's already had to use one of these this fight and... well, the tome he'd found this recipe in was pretty explicit in what happens if you take a second dose without a long rest in between.

But fuck it. _The falcon dashed, Gainst broken stone, The winter prevails,_ If he has to die.. she'll hurt, he didn't need a prophecy to tell him that. And she won't ever forgive herself for failing... well, he'll grieve, if Astea allows him the notion, but anything

_The ice is gone now; the room is clear, if still chilled._

is worth the cost if

_Justice cradles Marian's body in his arms, her blood vivid red against his dark body._

it prevents the thing

_Justice lays the corpse at Anders' feet, in a grim mockery of a bow._

he still sometimes sees in his nightmares. "Oye, pale and ugly- I try not to judge, but I'm starting to get the impression you're compensating for something!" To accompany his taunt, Varric fires a shot a the proto-lich.

"Varric," hisses Marian. _Dammit, he's going to get himself killed this way._ "Big guy or leader?"

When she gets his reply, she rushes in, fighting her way through the still-chanting idiots toward the giant. She grabs for a broom handle, using it as a staff -- and bringing to it a frost aura, slamming it over and over again into the hill giant. She taunts it, trying to lure its attention, trying to distract it so Varric can get good shots lined up -- and Varric does the same, shouting and shooting, backing up his daughter. With Aveline, they make a great team; Merrill and Bob can keep people off their back, while they lay down a world of hurt onto the hill giant.

They make a fatal mistake. They take their eyes off Johan.

Varric's voice cuts off mid-taunt, his eyes bulging as his face goes blue. Johan smirks, his hand outstretched, as if clutching Varric's throat, but from across the room.

Marian screams in rage, rushing toward him. The giant slams her aside with its club, throwing her against the wall; she slides to the floor, struggling to catch enough breath to get up.

Aveline sinks her sword into the giant's back, finally disrupting the magic and collapsing the monstrosity. Marian struggles to her feet, stumbling toward Varric, reaching for him as he sinks to the ground. _Please, please, don't do this to me, don't leave me!_

Varric's vision grays, blurs. There's so many things he wants to say to her. Most of them he already has, sure, but... some things are best said, over and over again. He tries to smile, tries to mouth 'daughter' to her but he's so damned tired. With the last he has, just before he fades away, he shifts and presses a smooth wooden stock into her hand. It's all he can do to protect her, to keep his--

On the other side of the fallen giant, Aveline lets out a furious howl, the noise ringing with defiance and challenge. Knowing she can do nothing ( _again_ ), not with Johan in between them, she instead rushes towards the absolute bastard that took a good man's life. If nothing else, she can give Marian a few seconds to mourn in peace.

Peace seems to be the last thing on Marian's mind. An anguished howl rips from her throat: "MERRILL!" Not Varric's name? No -- Merrill's the closest thing to a healer they have. She clings to Bianca like a life raft, turning toward Johan with murder in her eyes.

"Hawke?" Merrill asks distractedly, trying to catch her breath after using her last use of Cure Serious Wound to get Bob back in the fight so he can support Aveline. She turns, trying to see why her love is... is... "Varric?" she whispers in disbelief. _But... he's our father. He's.. he's not supposed to die for a very long time. He's supposed to help raise his grandchildren, supposed to be there when I finally have to let Marian rest. He.._ She's at his side, desperately trying to... trying to... "He's dead," she says in disbelief, voice numb and soft.

Marian's back stiffens. Then, she moves into action. Her broom-handle forgotten, she gives a feral scream, laying forth with volley after volley from Bianca. Nothing's poisoned, but it doesn't matter. She wants this man to suffer and die for..

for...

"VARRIC!" she screams, over and over, as the room freezes solid, as the last of the chanters fall. She reaches forward, grabbing for... something. She can't see what it is. She can't feel it, not with her hand. But the energy is almost tangible in her mind's eye as she grabs for the necromantic heart of this ritual. Johan gasps, falling to the ground, and Hawke--

Hawke pulses with a black light, her eyes rolling back in her head until only the whites show. An unseen, frozen wind blows her hair upward.

"Oh Hawke," Merrill whispers. _If.. if only it was Wynne here. If only I was... better. A better student, a better person. A better elf. If I had been better, at anything, I might have been able to save him. To save them all._ She's not sure what Hawke has just done, but she's fairly certain she's just disrupted a nearly complete ritual. Which, while good for the city in that it won't complete, is bad for everyone still in the building as the energies will likely lash out and kill them all. Which is nothing less than she deserves really, but it's a shame Aveline has to suffer for her weakness.

Her head bows, tears dripping onto Varric's chest. Sniffling, she leans further down to gently kiss him goodbye on the lips. She wishes she could give him back his life. She wishes she could give him her own life. She... just wishes he was alive.

A curl of magic, a wisp of breath, flows from her lips into his as she pulls back. A second passes as she frowns, trying to figure out what that sensation of... grace and love had been, then the dwarf sucks in a tortured breath. His eyes snap open, his mouth parts and calls out, "--daughter alive, have to keep--" He blinks. "Mileen?"

Merrill blinks. "Merrill," she corrects him. Then, "Varric! Hawke, Varric is alive!"

~*~

The dark and the cold rise up in her, swirling around her, surrounding her. She can see nothing but snow in the endless dark, feel nothing but grave dirt under her feet. There is nothing but the emptiness, the cold, and this pulsing, frozen ball in her hands. She can feel the lives bound up in it, the wasted lives, the energy of their deaths. She can feel Varric's death. All the good and warmth in him, all the warm smiles, all the stabs to the gut... all wasted, all for nothing, spilled out into this power before her.

She wants him back. She needs him back. She can feel what the power offers, a tiny sliver of godhood in her hands. She can bring him back. She can--

"Varric! "

Yes. Varric. Varric is what matters now.

"Hawke, Varric is alive!"

Varric is--

Alive?

...

...

_Alive?_

...

...

_What... am I doing?_

...

...

This power in her hands, it's not a solid piece. It's a tangle, strings reaching out beyond the frozen core of darkness to the city. The wonderful city, where she found a home. She can feel the dead rising, each body that rises from the grave feeding into the core tangle in her hands.

She can use this. She can become the monster Johan intended to be. But... no, she couldn't. It would be a waste of her own life. She would no longer be the person her family loves.

Or she can...

If she isn't careful, she can just smash the power. That would... that would probably kill everyone. Kill Aveline, Kill Merrill, Kill Varric.

No, that's not acceptable.

She presses the magic into her heart, taking it within herself. She can feel her heart start to ice over, as the ritual binds her into her role as the nexus of it. It writhes and pulses within her, trying to change her, trying to make her one of the living dead it so desperately wants to rise. She opens her eyes (they roll back into place) and looks around the room once more time. Her eyes fall on Aveline, then on Merrill... then on Varric.

"I love you all." she says, quietly.

Then she turns Bianca in her hands, presses her against her heart, and pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying you're crying


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

A firm knock on Zevran's door, in the middle of the night. It's well after sunset, and he's enjoying a rare moment of intimacy: not the sex, that's ordinary, but seeing Isabela sleep, unguarded, finally relaxed and peaceful. Seeing her trust him. It's... nice.  
But, that knock. When he opens the door, whatever he was expecting, it's not it; there's a child, blue of skin and dark of hair, with no pupils, yet somehow looking conflicted, emotional. His heart sinks. "What have you seen? Is it Hawke?"  
"Yes." The child fidgets, looking sorrowful, and he knows. He _knows_. But he makes her say it anyway: "She's gone. They've taken her body home."

~*~

Carver is awakened by the knock in the middle of the night. Who would be at his door this time of night? He pulls on a tunic, stumbles to the door, bleary-eyed. Realizes he's alone in he house -- why is he alone?  
"Captain?" he asks, groggily, taking in the sight.  
"I regret to inform you,"  
He hears no more, not really. Somehow, the meaning gets through, despite the words being lot between her mouth and his mind.  
 _Mother is dead. Marian is dead. I'm... I'm the only Hawke._  
He shuts down, his eyes glazing over. He stares at his hands. _The only Hawke._ It doesn't feel real, doesn't feel like he can put those words in that order, doesn't feel like it's sinking in. Its just me now.

~*~

They gather.  
Aveline brings Carver, keeping an eye on the boy as he struggles with his grief.  
Zevran brings Isabela, slaps her when she tries to run. "Come. For Hawke."  
Seli brings Andy, her guilt overpowering his objections. They have to do what they can. This is her fault, she thinks.  
Merrill brings Varric, dragging him along. Minding him helps her, at least a little. Helping him through the loss of his daughter makes the loss of her lover, her guiding star... not bearable. Never bearable. But at least a little better.  
They gather, in the yard, on a cool autumn day. They crowd around her bier. They say a prayer. And they hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"YOU'RE VERY LOVED," a woman comments in a soft, even tone. Wait, she was.. somewhere else? Somewhere... colder. Busy and... oh. She'd died. Right. Wait, who is--

Marian, beloved of so very many, looks around. She's... her vision swims for a second, then she can see she's in a cozy little room that reminds her a bit of her home in Golden Shores. It's cleaner, sparser and simpler, but so very welcoming and comforting. No details in particular jump out at her, though she gets the impression that a very large family lives here. For some reason, she thinks the family is very unusual and diverse but tightly knit.

She's in front of a fire, bundled in a soft blanket and clutching a cup of something warm and delicious. Across from her is a woman wearing soft grey clothing and smiling gently. "HELLO MARIAN BELLFLOWER TETHRAS HAWKE, MATRIARCH OF HER CLAN," she says once Marian is looking at her, "IT IS VERY NICE TO MET YOU IN PERSON. VERY FEW CAN CLAIM TO HAVE DONE A SERVICE AS WEIGHTY AS YOUR OWN."

"A service..." she echoes, quietly. "I did it? It worked?" She looks up, her eyes earnest and pleading.

"ALYDRA'S PROPHECY WAS FULFILLED. THE HAWKE LIES BROKEN BUT VICTORY WAS WON. THE STONE LIVES, AS DOES YOUR FLOWER AND SHIELD." It's strange- when she says 'stone' Marian thinks not of a rock, but instead the massive rock shelves entire cities, entire continents rest on. Not a pebble or boulder, but _bedrock_. The flower isn't just pretty or cheerful but endless seeking light and needing someone to keep it rooted. And the shield is sturdy and unyielding but purposeless without someone to protect.

"THE PATH WALKED WAS NOT THE PATH MOST WISE, NOR THE PATH MOST CLEVER. BUT IT WAS A PATH THAT SUFFICED." A pause. "IT WORKED, AS YOU SAY."

She settles into the warm, comforting feeling. _It worked... they lived._ She smiles, faintly, to herself. _I did good. Not the best, but good enough._ "What now?" she asks, quietly.

The woman gains a thoughtful look, though Marian couldn't explain how she knows that for the life of her. For... heh. Bit ironic, that saying, here. Wait... who... who is she talking--

"FOR MOST, WE WOULD TALK A SPELL, THEN YOU WOULD REST. PERHAPS, IN TIME, YOU WOULD BE CHOSEN TO SERVE ASTEA IN A MORE DIRECT FASHION/" She reaches over to pat Hawke on the knee, her touch the most solid, the most _real_ thing she's ever felt. " BUT IN YOUR CASE, YOU HAVE A MORE IMMEDIATE CHOICE. YOU ARE ONE OF THE VERY FEW THAT POSSESS THREE VERY IMPORTANT QUALITIES.

The stranger holds up a hand, counting each off on a finger. "FIRST, YOU ARE IMPORTANT, NOT ONLY TO YOUR OWN LIFE, BUT TO THE WEAVE OF FATE. THOUSANDS, TENS OF THOUSANDS WILL HAVE THEIR COURSES DRASTICALLY CHANGED BY YOUR CHOICES, PAST AND FUTURE. SECOND, YOU HAVE THOSE WILLING AND ABLE TO GATHER WHAT IS NEEDED TO BREACH THE DIVIDE.AND FINALLY,... YOU HAVE THE WILL TO CHOOSE."

The woman leans in a little, lowering her hand. "THEY ARE CALLING FOR YOU. BUT YOU MUST CHOOSE TO ANSWER. TO BEAR THE BURDENS OF LIFE ONE AGAIN AND PUT OFF YOUR WELL DESERVED REST. THIS IS NOT AN OFFER MADE LIGHTLY AND NOR SHOULD IT BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. THINK WELL, MARIAN BELLFLOWER TETHRAS HAWKE, MATRIARCH OF HER CLAN. WILL YOU MOVE ONWARDS, OR RETURN TO LIFE ONCE AGAIN AND CONTINUE TO BE WHAT YOU WERE CHOSEN TO BE?"

_Will you move onwards? Or return to life?_

Hawke's first instinct is to reject the call. She was _done_. She did what she set out to accomplish. She saved the whole city, probably; that tangle looked like it was reaching out through all of Nyra. She saved Varric, and Merrill, and Aveline. She can rest now. Right?

Rest...

She recalls waking in the middle of the night, reaching out for Varric. She recalls his voice, so soft, so tender: " _Yeah. I'm here. You're safe. Please wake up._ " She remembers the feel of his hand, gently closing around hers: " _I promise we can fix this. Come home to us. Merrill and I, Aveline and Wynne. We're all here, waiting. Come home._ "

She recalls Aveline's fury, borne of fear. " _I almost had to watch you die right-- not again, do you hear me? I won't do that again!_ " She remembers the tears, the pain in her eyes. " _To be called in to identify your body? To-to see you, empty and pale instead of vibrant and-and-and so you?_ "

She recalls Merrill's utter despair, as she wailed: " _I want a baby with your smile!_ "

She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. The pain washes over her: the shame, at having failed her friends. Then she lets that go too, finding a quiet, still place inside her. _You could stay anyway. Nobody would blame you._

But...

She remembers Zevran's hands, his wonderful hands, running over her body, as he whispers to her, words of worship and reverence. She remembers Wynne's tea, warm and comforting in a way no other food could be. She remembers laughing so hard her stomach aches, letting Isabela cheer her when she didn't think she could find cheer again. She remembers being _alive._

_I really am vibrant_ , she wonders. _Everyone is. Every precious soul on Aldis is so full of life and worth. How did I never notice that before?_

"I was chosen?" she asks, quietly, drawing herself out of her reverie. _If I'm going back... I should learn what I can now._

"YES. FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. FOR WHAT YOU COULD DO." Well, that was less helpful than she might have wished. "MORE THAN JUST ALYDRA AND MYSELF ARE WATCHING YOUR PATH. YOU ARE... A FULCRUM. A BREAKPOINT. A KEYSTONE. YOUR FATE IS NOT JUST YOUR OWN, BUT THE FATE OF MANY." And that was maybe too helpful, in mildly terrifying sort of way.

Marian remembers the feel of connection to the whole city -- the feel of that ball of magic, reaching out, preying on people's corpses. She shudders. _Not just my own..._

"I'm not good enough," she whispers, her shoulders slumping. "Look how badly I failed, over and over."

The woman is quiet a moment, seeming to hesitant for the first time. "PEOPLE DIE. THIS IS SIMPLY WHAT IS. BUT LESS DIED BECAUSE OF YOUR ACTIONS THAN WOULD HAVE HAD YOU NOT BEEN THERE." A pause. "EVEN WE CANNOT SEE WHAT SHALL BE WITH PERFECTION, BUT IT IS LIKELY HALF A MILLION SOULS WOULD HAVE BEEN SENT TO ME BEFORE THEIR ALLOTTED TIME HAD THE RITUAL BEEN SUCCESSFUL. OTHER HEROES WOULD HAVE BEEN CALLED TO SERVE, TO STOP THE SPREAD, BUT SO VERY MANY WOULD HAVE BEEN LOST BEFORE THEY WOULD HAVE WON.."

The woman doesn't move, and yet Marian can feel an embrace, soothing and everlastingly patient surround her."THIS WAS NOT A FAILURE. YOU MADE MISTAKES BUT AS LONG AS YOU LEARN FROM THEM AND DO BETTER NEXT TIME, THEN THEY WILL NOT BE WITHOUT VALUE. LIFE HOLDS PAIN, HOLDS SUFFERING AND LOSS, BUT IT ALSO BRINGS PLEASURE, HAPPINESS AND TRIUMPH."

_Do better..._

_Happiness. Pleasure. Triumph._

_Varric. Zevran. Merrill._

Marian nods, slowly. "I-- I will. I will accept the call. Thank you for... Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

The woman seems slightly bemused. "OF COURSE. WHAT ELSE WOULD I DO." She pauses then, considering, before nodding slightly. "IN THANKS FOR YOUR SERVICE, A GIFT.

Hawke doesn't see anything, doesn't hear or even smell a thing. But for a moment, just a moment, she can feel her sister hold her close. Kiss her check. And whisper that she loves her, loves her and Carver. And that, yes, she'll look after Mother. Somehow, the eye roll at that last is tied only with the feeling of love as being the most vivid. A feeling of goodbye, but only for a lifetime, then she's gone.

And then Mileen rises to her feet and the world is--

the world is--

the world--

She's alive. She's in Wynne's backyard, staring up at the cherry tree that Merrill insists climbing once a week, even though she's terrible at it. And... and her Clan is here. Her family, even Carver and Seli and Andy, is here.

She's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with us! We'll begin posting the sequel, Guiding Lights, this week. In the meantime, we'd love to hear from you.


End file.
